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1 





THEO WADDINGTON 


A NOVEL 


JULIAN WYNDHAM 





BOSTON 

UNITED PUBLISHING COMPANY 
3 Somerset Street 
1892 

VN 


1 * 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Copyright, 1892 

By United Publishing Company 

All rights reserved 









, ‘/r ^ /A 




PART I 


To you your father should be as a god; 

One that composed your beauties ; yea, and one 
To whom you are but as form in wax, 

By him imprinted, and within his power 
To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 

— Shakespeare: Mid. iV. Dream. 



THEO WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER I 

M y father, who even in the prime of life was not very 
modern in his views, held to the old-fashioned 
belief, that in the household, “discipline should be main- 
tained”, and that children should in all things unques- 
tioningly obey their parents — especially their father. 
There was no dogma of his Presbyterian creed which he 
believed more firmly ; and, naturally, we were all made to 
feel it, from my mother down to my youngest brother 
Ambrose, aged eleven. Indeed, I think the latter often 
felt it very deeply. But none of us ever demurred. We 
never thought of doing such a monstrous thing. The 
government, although perhaps not absolutely severe, was 
very strict and quite unfailing. 

We were a very prim family, externally we were all 
moulded after one model — that model being my father’s 
ideal of a dutiful child. We all walked the same chalk- 
mark. Woe to him who stepped aside from the pre- 
scribed track ! He was speedily and with small ceremony 
brought back into the way he should have trod. 

My father was a large man — quite ponderous, in fact, 
and he had very big, strong white hands which to my 


8 


THEO WADDINGTON 


childish imagination bore an expression as unmistakable 
as that of his face ; for those hands had been instru- 
mental in guiding my rebellious infant steps into the 
proper, well-worn path which was being dutifully followed 
by the four elder brothers and sisters who had preceded 
me therein ; and they were still often employed in main- 
taining discipline. Then, what caresses they often 
bestowed upon my hair and cheek and upon those of my 
sisters and brothers and mother ! And should I ever for- 
get how those cool, firm fingers had soothed away the 
pain in my fevered head, once when I had been ill } So 
they bore to my imagination not only an expression of 
strength and decision and even of possible severity, but 
also of love and gentleness. The strength and decision 
I honored. The love and gentleness I almost worshipped. 
The severity, I — well, I shall not say how I felt about 
that — my father’s children were yoked creatures in those 
days and were not at all supposed to have any private 
opinions. 

‘‘You’re the most sot-down-on children I ever seen,” a 
new housemaid once confidentially asserted to me. “You 
ain’t got no minds of your own. You seem like you was 
all made of putty. There’s not one of you that seems to 
have the spirit of your papa. You all seem to take after 
your mamma — especially you three girls. Why, there’s 
six of you children, all together, and you never make no 
noise through the house.” 

“Papa can’t stand a noisy house, Jane,” I had replied 
in my very grave, little manner. “He can’t write his 
sermons unless everything is quiet. Noise excites him.” 

“Well, he himself is blustery and lively and noisy 
enough when he comes out of his study. He seems a 


THEO WADDtNGTON' 


0 


awful kind-hearted, jolly man, and I can’t see why you’ns 
all seem so sorter sot-down-on.” 

But Jane had not been with us long before she, too, 
had come under the inevitable, but indefinable influence 
which so certainly controlled every member of our house- 
hold ; she grew, in a short time, to stand in awe of the 
very knob on the door of my father’s study. 

This peculiar domination was not confined within the 
narrow limits of our family circle. It extended over the 
entire congregation of which my father was pastor. He 
would brook no opposition to his will. He would not be 
foiled in any of his wishes. His people and even his 
church officers, knew it, and meekly submitted to his 
way; for they loved and respected him. He had. a great 
warm heart, a tenderness and a sympathy which would 
force itself through his sternest moods, which colored even 
his most eloquent discourses on doom eternal, and which 
endeared him alike to young and old. He acted in his 
ofifice of pastor very like a. strict schoolmaster; but his 
congregation never resented his exercise of authority. 
They liked it. Delinquents were flattered by his interest 
in them. The faithful were rewarded by his warm 
approval. Vigor, sincerity and decision marked his every 
act and word. Every one honored him because every 
one knew that he preached nothing which he did not with 
all his heart and soul endeavor to practise; and which, 
I must add, he did not endeavor to make everybody else 
practise — especially those of his own household — regard- 
less of the fact that to some are given one talent, to some 
five, and to some ten. 

Another secret of - his popularity with his flock was his 
ability to be entertaining in company. His power of 


10 


THEO WADDINGTON 


mimicry, his sense of humor and his drollery, made it 
difficult at times for him to remain entirely serious even 
while conducting the services of the church. Did any of 
his children inherit his witty faculty, they never pre- 
sumed to display it in his presence. If they had ever 
done so, I think it would have surprised him very much. 

Here are a few pages from a note-book or diary which 
I began to keep when I was a mere child — a little girl 
of thirteen years : 

<‘We have all' just come up stairs from family worship, 
and have each gone to his or her own bedroom. That 
is our custom. We always do go straight to our bed- 
rooms after evening prayers. Ours is a very orderly 
household — oh, very! It is even systematic. Papa 
wishes it to be so, and whatever papa wishes is always 
done. He said in his sermon, last Sunday morning, that 
in these modern days there is ‘ a lamentable falling off in 
family government’, and that in most homes the father 
is no longer ‘the head of the, house’. I felt rather self- 
conscious and uncomfortable while papa was saying that, 
and I turned my eyes just a little to see if anyone was 
looking toward our pew. And yes, there was that young 
law student (who came to our city only a few months 
ago, and who boards across the street from our house) 
staring straight at us, with a twinkle in his eyes, as 
though he wanted to smile. He is a very daring young 
man. He made papa angry, one day, by telling him that 
he did not think he would join the Presbyterian Church 
until a few things in the creed had been changed. He 
must have a great deal of courage to have been able to 
say that to papa. I can’t help admiring courage, even 
though it is misdirected. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


11 


“Just now, instead of sitting here writing in my note- 
book, I ought to be getting ready for bed. That is what 
papa supposes I am doing. I usually do just what is 
expected of me, but this evening I feel so very wide 
awake and restless — I know I could not sleep if I were 
in bed. So I mean to sit up and write for a while. I 
am so glad I have a room to myself. Amy, my elder 
sister, who is fifteen years old, used to room with me. 
But I begged mamma one day at the breakfast table to 
let her occupy another room, as I wanted to enjoy a little 
privacy, sometimes. When I said that, they all smiled 
— every one in the family except papa, and he laughed 
outright and declared I was ‘a quaint, old-fashioned little 
woman ’. 

“‘And what do you want with a little privacy.^’ he 
asked. ‘ What do you propose to do with it } ’ 

“‘One can think better when one . is alone, papa,’ I 
answered. 

“‘And what weighty thinking do you have to do.^’ 

“‘I think about many things,’ I said, hesitatingly, for I 
was guiltily conscious that some of my secret thoughts 
would not have met his approval; ‘chiefly about the 
things that I read.’ 

“‘Theo is only thirteen,’ remarked mamma. ‘But she 
reads more books than Amy or even than Lila. And 
she does use such old language (so many long words, 
you know), for a child of her years ! ’ 

“‘Yes, she is our precocious child, I suspect,’ papa 
said, ‘although she is by no means the best looking.’ 

“‘No, she.is such a brown little thing,’ mamma agreed. 
‘Her eyes and her forehead are her only redeeming feat- 
ures. She doesn’t take with strangers as Amy and 


12 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Lila do. She is so serious and quiet and demure. In : 
some respects she is old beyond her years. In others /v 
she will always be a baby.’ | 

“ ‘ Let her have a room to herself, mamma, if she wants 
it,’ was papa’s final comment ; and I left the breakfast 
table elated at the success of my proposal. My pleasure 
was not, however, expressed by any noisy demonstrations. : 
No one in our house is ever noisy, except papa. [ 

“And so now I have a room to myself. The happiest 
hours I spend are those in which I am shut up alone in | 
this cosey sanctum. I and my note-book and my little ■ 
bedroom have many a secret confidence. Amy and Lila : 
and Joe and Ambrose, and even my big brother Harold, ^ 
who is twenty-one and is studying for the ministry, andj 
who Jane once said was ‘the most sot-down-on of all of 
us’ (herself included), have begun to be a little curious: 
to know what I do when I am shut up alone in my room 
for hours together. j. 

“ I have placed my little writing table near the window 
and directly under the gas burner. I keep my note-book 
locked up in the drawer of it. If any member of our; 
family should ever discover that I keep a note-book, L 
should — well, I should, as Joe says, ‘go off and die’.'^ 
That’s slang. Joe never uses slang before papa; but hei 
whispers it to me, sometimes, and I am very sorry to say. 
I rather like it. Good behavior is so monotonous when 
you keep it up all the time. I can think of nothing that 
is more monotonous. That is why I like my note-book.i 
I just talk right out in this little book, as though I were* 
not at all ‘sot-down-on’, as Jane very vulgarly says.^ 
Indeed, if it were not for my note-book, I think I should 
suffocate sometimes. There are some days when I feel 


THEO WADDINGTON 


1:3 


as though I should stifle ; and the only thing that relieves 
me is to lock myself in my room, and tell everything that 
I feel and think, to my little book. It is very sly of me 
to keep this note-book. Papa has no idea that I have 
secret thoughts. My father is very clever, I know; all 
his large congregation think him so. And yet I believe 
he sometimes makes mistakes. He seems to think that 
the eternal life is the whole life. Now if Joe should hear 
me say that, he would laugh and call me ‘an old-fashioned 
little kid’. Joe and Amy are twins. I think I love Joe 
better than any of my brothers and sisters, although I am 
pretty sure papa thinks he is the least dutiful of all of us. 
But Joe and I are really very congenial — only he doesn’t 
love to read so much as I do. But, as I was saying, papa 
supposes that because we are all in the habit of doing 
exactly as he wishes us to do, that we are the very best 
children in the world. But I am quite sure that I live 
two lives — one before my father’s eye, and another 
entirely shut up in myself which nobody knows anything 
about — not even Joe, though I talk to him more than to 
any of the others. My father has no idea that I have 
private opinions about things, I am so quiet and 
unobtrusive. 

“I do not believe that my brothers and sisters live two 
lives as I do. Joe, of course, does to a certain extent, but 
not so much as I do. As I grow older I think I become 
more and more double. Where it will end I cannot fore- 
tell. But my brothers and sisters are quite contented ; 
they are used to doing just what is expected of them, and 
they don’t seem to find it irksome at all. I don’t think 
one of them keeps a note-book. They can get along 
quite well without one. They all think me a little queer. 


14 


THEO WADDINGTON 


I don’t enjoy the things that interest them. I just hate 
to study catechism, although, of course, I never tell any-| 
one so. I don’t like to embroider and mend and dust 
and all those things. I dislike above all things to have] 
to go into the parlor when church-members call. I ami 
afraid Joe and I are a little misanthropic, for we have, 
confided to each other, that we think many people, and' 
especially the ladies who call at our house, are very tire-' 
some. But Lila, who is quite tall and pretty and stylish,? 
is always very glad to see company ; and Amy loves tol 
study catechism and do her duty; and Harold, who, as It 
have said, is studying for the ministry, likes nothing^ 
better than to read large books by Jonathan Edwards.” \ 
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

I wrote no more in my precious note-book that night.J 
Looking back now from a distance of many years I can| 
clearly recall the incidents of the remainder of thatjj 
evening. 

My writing fever was suddenly interrupted by a knockjj 
at my door — a quick, decided knock that was unmistak-J 
able; there was but one hand in the family that wouldfi 
knock with such firmness and decision as that. It was a| 
very great shock to me. My poor little heart leaped into| 
my throat and beat so violently, that for a moment l| 
could scarcely breathe ; and as I lifted my eyes from m3i 
note-book, I was horrified to discover by the small clock 
which stood on my bureau, that it was nearly midnight ! 

I was supposed to have been in bed at half-past nine. 

‘‘Who is it.^” I faintly called, knowing perfectly well 
who it was, but wishing to gain a little time. I dashedf 
the note-book into the table drawer, locked it and put thel 


THEO WADDINGTON 


lo 


“Theo! What are you doing?” called a voice with- 
out, in a tone as startling as the decided knock. 

“I’m — I’m sleeping, papa!” 

“ Open your door ! ” 

I was very philosophical even at that age. Be-thinking 
me that the very worst he could do would be to slay me, 
and that we must all die some time, I gulped down my 
heart into the place where it belonged, and calmly opened 
the door. 

There stood my father, tall and ponderous, clad in a 
long, black dressing-gown. 

“Theo!” he exclaimed, not sternly, but in a tone of 
vigorous decision ; he was not angry, only very determ- 
ined ; and he never spoke in an angry or loud tone even 
in his greatest impatience. “What! You are not even 
undressed ? What does this mean ? ” 

I could think of no suitable answer, so I only stood 
still and looked up at him gravely, not feeling very much 
alarmed, since I had, before opening the door, resigned 
myself even to death itself. 

“Answer me, Theo. What have you been doing?” 

“I’ve been — thinking. I was just about to go to 
bed.” 

“Well, I should hope so!” he exclaimed, biting his lip 
to conceal a smile — at which I felt encouraged. 

“If you indulge in meditation at this rate, Theo, you 
can’t be allowed to room alone. Are you sure you have 
not been reading?” he asked, looking at me keenly. 

“No, papa. I’ve not been reading.” 

“Well, then, get to bed just as quickly as you can! I 
am very much displeased to find you up so late. Remem- 
ber, if this thing occurs again, you will have to room with 


16 


THEO WADDINGTON 


one of your sisters. Now don’t cry, don’t cry,” he added 
hastily, as he observed the tears swell up into my eyes. 
For I was extremely sensitive. I loved my father pas- 
sionately, and the slightest censure from him hurt my 
feelings very much. He rarely reproved me ; indeed he 
did not often have occasion to do so. 

Don’t cry, my little girl,” he said, tenderly, as he laid 
his hand on my shoulder ; for he seldom could withstand 
feminine tears. “Good-night, and get to bed at once.” 

“Yes, papa,” I dutifully replied. And then he went 
away. When he had gone, I sat down on the side of my 
bed and began to undo my black hair, which I wore in a 
long plait down my back ; and while thus engaged I med- 
itated earnestly upon the horrible possibility of some time 
having my note-book discovered by my father. 

“ Suppose I had forgotten to lock my door this even- 
ing, and he had walked in and found me writing ! ” I sug- 
gested to myself. “ Or suppose I had not had presence 
of mind enough to put my book out of sight before 
answering his knock ! He would certainly have insisted 
upon seeing what it was that I had been writing. And 
then then I should have been lost! For I could never 
bear to have any one see it, least of all papa. And I am 
sure if he ever found it, I should not be able to prevent 
his reading it. I should be covered with shame if he did I 
read it. I wonder why.?” ? 

I could not understand why then, but I know, now. I ^ 
had learned to hide before my family everything that I | 
felt and thought, and so it had come to seem like a shame I 

and a disgrace to have anyone look upon my inner life 

my real, true life ; for I had begun to realize that the 
other the eternal — was largely a form and a sham. 


TNEO U'ADDIJVG TON- 


11 


CHAPTER II 

A FEW more leaves from my note-book. 

“It is a dreary, drizzling afternoon. Amy and I 
have said all our lessons to brother Harold and are now 
free to do as we please until tea-time. So I have shut 
myself up alone in my own dear little room, to write in 
my note-book. How I love to be alone ! Solitude is 
very precious. 

“ I see that Mr. Rushrnore, the young law student who 
boards across the street, is sitting at the front window of 
his second floor room. I notice that he stares over here 
a great deal. Every day he sits at his front window and 
writes and reads almost as much as I do. I wonder if he 
keeps a note-book. I often meet his eye when I happen 
to glance up from my writing. 

“This morning at the breakfast table, papa remarked, 
'Mr. Rushrnore is a fine young fellow, but he has fallen 
into sad errors — despite the fact that his parents and all 
his family are the strictest sort of Presbyterians. On 
account of his family, whom I know very well, I feel that 
I I must take some interest in him ; and also, because 

j he often comes to our church with his uncle. Judge 

Canfield.’ 

“I think Mr. Rushrnore provokes papa very much 
sometimes, and puzzles him, too. Often, when I see him 
come out of the house and walk down the street, I think 


16 


THEO WADDINGTON 


he looks almost as strong and manly as my father does. 
How odd it would be if my eldest brother Harold were 
like that ! If he were, papa and he would not get along 
very well. I remember one day when Harold ventured 
to offer some objection to one of the stories in the Bible, 
papa said to him, very sternly — 

“‘You must no more question the authority of the 
Bible, than you question my authority in this house ! ’ 
“Mr. Rushmore has very black eyes, and he has an 
expression in them which makes me suspect that he 
thinks things out for himself. I wish I were wise 
enough to do that. So many things puzzle me, espe- 
cially about religion. It seems so stupid to try to believe 
whatever you’re told without ever trying to understand 
it. It really does not seem honest to yourself. Lately 
so many new thoughts have come into my mind that I 
feel quite bewildered about some things. I think I shall 
tell a few of them to Harold. He is studying theology 
and may be able to explain them to me. I should not 
like to ask papa about them. He might get excited — 
as Joe says he always does when he talks to Mr. 
Rushmore.” 

Here is another page written the next day. 

“A very interesting thing happened to me to-day. 
Interesting things don’t often happen in our house, for 
we are a very quiet, orderly family — all of us except 
papa, who is always energetic and lively. 

“Just before luncheon, I went over to Miss Appell’s 
to borrow a book from her library. I chose ‘Jane Eyre ’. 
I’ve read it twice, but I never tire of it, and mean to read 
it again. If I could know the author of that book, I 
should love her. I feel that I should be able to talk 'to 


THEO WADDINGTON 


lU 

her quite freely. I have never known anyone to whom I 
can talk, as I talk to you, my little note-book. 

“Well, after luncheon, I sat clown by my bedroom 
window and read in ‘Jane Eyre’, until Harold rang the 
bell in the library to summon Amy and me to our lessons, 
which we recite to him every day (for he goes to the 
Theological Seminary only in the morning). As I was 
leaving my room to go down stairs to him, I saw a letter 
lying on the floor, near the door. I picked it up. The 
envelope bore no address. I did not stop to examine it 
further, but put it in my pocket and hurried away to my 
lessons. 

“When Harold was through with us and I had come 
up stairs to my room again, I took out the envelope, and 
drew from it a very fat letter. 

“‘Can it be intended for me.^’ I wondered; ‘and who 
can have thrown it on the floor of my room } ’ 

“^‘Dear Damon,’ it began; and it was signed, ‘As ever, 
your Pythias.’ 

“‘I’m 'afraid it isn’t meant for me; but I can’t tell, 
until I’ve read it,’ I said to myself. 

“ I found some things in that letter which made quite 
an impression on me. I shall copy parts of it into this 
note-book, before returning it to the one who I’m sure 
must have written it. 

“ I have decided that I myself must have carried it into 
my room, between the pages of ‘Jane Eyre’, for Miss 
I Appell is very generous and neighborly, and lends her 
j books to other people, besides me. 

“‘Dear Damon: Tuesday afternoon, after adjourn- 
ment of court. Weather, ‘fair to middling’, as the old 


20 


THEO WADDINGTON 


women say around here. Place, my own room in my 
boarding-house. Monotony broken only by the whirl of 
a pen and an occasional glance at a brown little face at 
a window opposite — a quaint, prim child with very large, 
dark eyes whom I have lately taken to watching with 
interest and curiosity — the youngest daughter of that 
Rev. Dr. Waddington I have several times mentioned 
in my letters to you. She is just about the age of 
my little sister Edith, for whom I often become abom- 
inably homesick. Among the many tiresome things of 
my life in this prosy town, is the fact that I’ve not made 
the acquaintance of a single child, and I sometimes get 
quite hungry for some little one to pet. Before you 
write again go over to see how my small nephew is get- 
ting on, will you 'i 

“‘I am invited out a great deal, here — tennis parties, 
dances, etc. Young men are scarce in these parts, and 
so I’m in a fair way to be spoiled by the dear, fond girls. 
Damon, my chum, what wouldn’t I give for some sensible, 
congenial girl friend, who would make me forget, at least 
somewhat, how I miss the home folks. But in society, 
one never can get at the real mind and heart of a girl, 
even assuming the large supposition that she has a mind j 
and heart to get at. ■ 

“‘Wish you could hear some of the absurd provincial- | 
isms around here. There are glaring errors in the con- 
verse of men and women in York, that are inexcusable 
except in people of the lowest sort. My physician gave 
me some medicine, one day, with this verbal direction: 
“To be taken every two hours without you’re sleeping”. 

I was annoyed, for he is by no means an illiterate fellow. 
You remember that mole on my chin.? It has taken to 


THEO WADDINGTON 


21 


developing of late, at a great rate — according to the 
Darwinism law of <‘the survival of the fittest”, I presume. 

“‘While I was sitting at this window, a while ago, a 
Presbyterian Elder and his little son drove up to Dr. 
Waddington’s door; he alighted and rang, but no one 
came out ; he banged, he thumped, he pounded on the 
door with his riding-whip ; but no response. At last he 
handed his son out of the carriage, gave him a pot of 
flowers and a parcel containing, I suppose, “strawberry- 
butter-r-r”, as these Pennsylvanians would say, and sent 
him in to the side entrance. The boy delivered his wares 
and came back to the carriage, unaccompanied by any of 
the Waddington family. I wonder what they were all 
doing. Am I not a connoisseur in the art of gossiping 
I think Pa Waddington was probably whipping Joe. Ma 
was crying. Harold^as teaching Amy and Theo. Lila 
was embroidering, and Ambrose was studying his Sunday 
School lesson. Of course I don’t know. “It’s not for 
me to say as shouldn’t, not being on the grounds ” (to use 
the York style of phraseology). But things pointed that 
way. For Pa came out shortly after, cane in hand, 
looking like Pompey when he flogged the Hottentots. 
Mamma didn’t appear, (doth a woman flaunt her tears T) 
Joe came out looking volumes — at least I think so, for 
if my story be authentic he ought to have felt volumes. 
Theo appeared at her window looking like a good girl 
who had said her lessons to brother Harold, and was at 
peace with papa, and didn’t pity Joe because he ought to 
have known that he should not have done it. Elder 
brother Harold sat down by the library window, with a 
volume of Jonathan Edwards, most likely, thinking as he 
turned the pages, “ Nice girl, that little Theo. I’m glad 


22 


THEO WADDINGTON 


I insisted upon obedience from her from the first — it’s 
so much better than if she wouldn’t listen.” 

“ ‘ I fear I bore you, my Damon ; but just now there is 
nothing in York which interests me so much as this very 
clerical family across the street. They all have such a 
squelched aspect, as though they had every one been 
flattened into the same mould. Dr. Waddington is, how- 
ever, an odd, interesting character. He preaches and 
believes the orthodoxy of thirty years ago, and backs it 
up with so much Scripture and so much real eloquence, 
that his congregation are always quite convinced. His 
reading is entirely confined to Presbyterian works of the- 
ology and The Presbyterian Monthly'". He called on 
me when I first came to this town and asked me to take 
a catechism class in the Sunday School. ‘^Not until the 
creed is considerably revised,” I replied; and then we 
“had it” at a great rate. He was scandalized at hearing 
some of my views in reference to his blessed Jonathan 
Edwards. With a deep sigh and look averted, he 
exclaimed from the depths of his bigoted soul, ‘^Poor 
young man ! I hope you may be forgiven ! ” I got my- 
self into difficulties by trying to persuade him that if I 
had naught but that to be forgiven, I should be a happy 
spirit. I was told once for all and .most decidedly, that 
“unless we believe all that is between the lids of the 
Book, it is hard for us to be forgiven ; and as for Jews, 
Catholics, Heathens and others, it is a pity for them, poor 
souls, but they can’t enter the kingdom”. 

“ ‘ So I found it useless to argue with him, especially 
as I became excited and forgot occasionally the respect 
due to my seniors. 

“‘Before he took his leave, he prayed for me, with 


THEO WADDINGTON 


23 


great earnestness, as one who had “followed cunningly 
devised fables and the sophistries of men 

“ ‘ I would not take the trouble to mention all this, 
only I do think the man has some good parts. He is a 
man, you know, and commands one’s respect; and he is 
a perfect gentleman. He is very eloquent, and has some 
natural gifts — a sympathetic heart which attracts like a 
magnet ; an enthusiastic, imaginative nature which makes 
him quite fascinating at times ; a splendid physique, 
which one can’t help admiring ; a sense of humor and a 
most original drollery which are quite irresistible. I 
must own I like him — I can’t help it; and I believe, in 
my heart, that he likes and respects me, too. You see 
he is quite unused to being opposed or contradicted. He 
can’t get over it that I am not afraid of him. It’s the 
best thing in the world for him, that I have crossed his 
path ; he needs to be defied by some one ; he needs to 
learn that there are other minds and other wills in the 
world besides his own. 

“The primmest and most correct of all his children is 
the youngest daughter, Theo. She appears to be a per- 
fect pattern of dutifulness. Never a sign of mischief or 
fun on that serious, dark little face. I often see her sit- 
ting for hours by her window, before what appears to be 
a writing-table. Nearly every night, the gas in her room 
burns long after all the rest of the house is dark. You 
know I have a little habit of reading late into the night, 
but frequently I have given up and gone to bed before 
that little thing leaves her table. I wonder what she 
does. I see her sitting by her window reading a great 
‘deal, too. Miss Appell tells me she is a little book-worm. 
I mean to find out what sort of books she borrows from 


24 


THEO tVADDINGTON' 


Miss Appell’s library. Pious ones, I suppose. I should 
like to take a piece of unsophisticatedness like this and 
show her something of the world — a New York theatre, 
some scenes at Delmonico’s, etc. I know not why, but 
I have a desire to talk to this little pink of propriety, to 
amaze her inexperienced ears by some rash and daring 
remarks, just to see what she would do and say. Td like 
to quiz her and draw her out. Miss Lila Waddington is 
deucedly pretty, but she doesn’t divert me as that little 
pattern of correctness does — to shock her I should 
enjoy above all things.’ 

“The remainder of Mr. Rushmore’s letter I find relates 
to his own private affairs and so I shall read no more. 

“Now I think he is a very curious young man. I 
should like to show this letter to papa, only I haven’t the 
courage. Then, too, he has written about my sitting up 
late, so I can’t show it. I wonder how I shall return it 
to him } It was very careless of him to forget to take it 
out of ‘Jane Eyre’ before returning the book to Miss 
Appell. Oh, I remember, now, we are all invited to Mrs. 
Judge Canfield’s to a tennis party to-morrow, and if he is 
there I can take that opportunity to return it to him, and 
apologize for having read some of it. 

“This letter has given me some new ideas to think 
about. I believe that after this, whenever I see Mr. 
Rushmore, I shall regard him with a great deal of 
interest.” 


THEO WADDINGTOET 


25 


CHAPTER III 

S EATED on a bench, under a shady tree, apart from 
the rest of the party, I watched with interest the 
game of tennis which was going on, upon the lawn of 
Judge Canfield’s fine place”, or, to speak more accu- 
rately, I watched the players rather than the game, for I 
cared little for the sport. On festive occasions of this 
sort, which were very rare in my life, I always tried to 
steal off alone, for I was a shy, awkward girl in those 
days, and the antics of our hostess, the lively Miss Can- 
field, and her friends (all older than myself), rather 
bewildered me. So I was quite content and happy to be 
left solitary and unmolested under the big, shady tree 
where I could silently watch the faces, and hear the con- 
versation of the others, for people always interested me. 

There was the organist of our church, a most stylish 
young man with his hair parted in the middle, a mous- 
tache which Alice Canfield pronounced to be “perfectly 
killing”, and manners which can be compared only to 
those of a Brazilian monkey. There was my pale, clerical 
brother Harold actually flirting with Isabel Kensington, 
a pretty, rolicsome creature, whose conversation abounded 
in adjectives and adverbs. There was Mabel Harris, who 
giggled incessantly while she fanned herself languidly and 
listened indulgently to the jokes of a devoted young man 
whom Alice Canfield had declared to be “perfectly dear”. 


26 


THEO WADDINGTON 


There were my sisters, Amy and Lila, who differed very 
much from the other girls, I thought. They were dressed 
more simply ; they were not so forward and demonstrative; 
their language .was never extravagant, nor their manner 
gushing; they were sensible and modest; yet Lila was 
just now not without animation and gayety ; for she was, 
as Alice Canfield expressed it, “perfectly devoted to ten- 
nis ”, and she was a very good player. Amy, however, 
was always too severely virtuous to take well with young 
people. Then there was Mr. Rushmore, who played well, 
and apparently with little effort, though he did seem to be 
somewhat bored. His appearance was different from 
that of the other young men. There was nothing of the 
dude or fop about him. He was not stylish at all. His 
black clothes were of very fine quality, but entirely plain, 
and rather unconventional. But his evident indifference 
to dress made him, I think, look all the more interesting 
in the eyes of the sentimental maidens whom Miss Can- 
field was entertaining. He was young — not more than 
twenty-four years of age — yet his face was thoughtful 
and his bearing manly. I looked at him with curiosity as 
I thought of his letter in the pocket of my dress. There 
was something of obstinacy in the set of his lower jaw, 
but this expression was relieved somewhat by the tender 
and rather delicate curve of his thin lips. The keenness 
of his black eyes was also modified, I thought, by the 
dreamy softness in them. I felt myself oddly attracted 
to him. I wondered if I should have an opportunity to 
talk to him during the evening and to return his letter. 

“I look to be such a child,” I said to myself, “com- 
pared with other girls, and really am so much younger, 
that I doubt if he will take the trouble to come and 


THEO WADDINGTON- 


27 


speak to me. But he said he ‘ would like to talk to that 
little pink of propriety’ — ‘to quiz her and draw her out’ 
— ‘to shock and amaze her inexperienced ears’. Well, I 
do hope he will come and talk to me, for I’m very curious 
to hear what ‘rash’ things he will say in order to ‘shock’ 
me. I wonder if he will use slang. The first time papa 
ever heard Joe use slang, I remember he whipped him. 
Joe always whispers it now.” 

Even while I sat thinking in this strain, Mr. Rush- 
more’s tall figure, which loomed quite above the other 
young men, suddenly separated from the group near the 
tennis court and began to stroll across the lawn, alone. 

“He is coming toward this tree,” thought I, nervously; 
“ I wonder if he has seen me here, and is coming to me 
now, ‘to quiz me and draw me out’. But I've not been 
introduced to him.” 

Strolling very leisurely and keeping his eyes fixed 
steadily on the tree beneath which I sat, he came nearer 
and nearer; at length he reached my side and stood 
before me. 

“Shall I be intruding if I sit down here on the 
bench } ” 

He did not wait for my answer, but at once seated 
himself at my side, leaned his elbow on his knee, and 
coolly looked at me. 

“I have never been introduced to you,” I said, primly, 
as with curiosity in my own eyes, I met the keen ones 
bent upon me. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter. I 
don’t mind.” 

He frowned to conceal an unmistakable look of amuse- 
ment,. which came into his face in spite of him. 

“I am always forgetting ceremonies and conventional- 


28 


THEO IVADDINGTON- 


ities. But we don’t need to be introduced, do we, little 
neighbor? You know my name ? ” 

“Yes; you are Mr. Rushmore,” I replied, realizing 
with some surprise that I felt not in the least awkward or 
embarrassed before this great, tall young man with his 
manner of assurance and self-possession, and his tone of 
quiet strength. “Joe has talked to me about you, several 
times. I have heard papa speak of you to mamma, too. 
And I often see you sitting at your window, writing or 
reading. Do you keep a note-book — a sort of diary, you 
know } ” 

“ No. Do you } ” he asked, cautious to conceal any- 
thing he may have felt at the oddity of my question. 

“Yes. But please don’t ever speak of it before 
papa.” 

“ Why not .? ” 

“ He might want to read it.” 

“ Well ! Why would you wish him not to } ” 

“ It would embarrass me. I write in it all my secret 
thoughts.” 

“ Do you have ‘ secret thoughts ’ ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” 

“Can’t you repeat a few of them to me.? I’ll never 
tell.” 

“I would rather not. Please excuse me,” I said 
gravely. 

“ Does no one ever see your note-book ? ” 

“No.” 

“Then why do you take the trouble to write it?” 

“It relieves me when I feel restless.” 

Poor child ! he said, involuntarily. “ I suppose you 
never have a chance to let forth your real self in any 


THEO WADDINGTON 


20 


Other way.” But he looked provoked with himself, the 
moment the words had passed his lips. 

“That is just it,” I responded eagerly, surprised and 
strangely delighted at this rare divination of, and sympa- 
thy with, one of my “secret ” feelings. 

“I suppose at home you don’t dare call your nose your 
own } ” he said, looking as though he knew he was ventur- 
ing on improper ground. But I had no idea of what he 
meant by this odd remark. 

“That is slang, I suppose.^” I inquired, puckering my 
brow into a puzzled frown. 

“Well, yes, so to speak. I mean — your father’s will is 
your conscience — you know no other. You don’t belong 
to yourself ; you belong body and soul to your father.” 

“Yes,” I said simply. “That is the way it is.” He 
looked at me keenly. There was a curiosity and a sur- 
prise in his face which perplexed me. 

“ You love your father } ” 

“Yes,” I replied with a sudden glow. “I love papa 
better than anyone else living. He is a good father. 
There is nothing which he cares for so much as that his 
children may grow up to be good men and women. You 
did not think, did you, that he was not a good father.?” 
I asked anxiously. 

“From his stand-point, he is a good father.” 

“I know what you mean. It is what I’ve felt many 
times lately, and I’ve often tried to write it in my note- 
book. You think, that if my father’s children grow up to 
be good men and women, the goodness will not be really 
theirs, but only a copy of their father’s ideal ; that it will 
be only external; that we will have no strength of our 
own, and that our individuality is being crushed out.” 


30 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“Why, child, how old are you?” he inquired in 
astonishment. 

“Oh, dear me!” I said, a little impatiently; “are you 
going to tell me, as Joe often does, that I talk like a little 
grandmother? Well, I am thirteen.” 

“Is that all? You are tall for that age. You will be 
a rather large woman.” 

“Yes. Papa says I’m overgrown.” 

“In mind, as well as body, I think. What sort of 
books do you borrow from Miss Appell?” 

“Novels and stories, generally — sometimes poetry and 
essays and biographies.” 

“What are you reading, just now? I saw you come 
out of Miss Appell’s yesterday with two books.” 

“They were ‘Jane Eyre’ and ‘The Autocrat of the 
Breakfast Table’.” 

“You will imbibe some heterodoxy from Dr. Holmes,” 
he said, smiling. 

“Shall I?” I asked, rather eagerly. “I hope I shall 
get some new ideas from him — I love to get new ideas.” 

“I want to lend you a book I got for my little sister 
to-day. When you have read it we must talk it over 
together. It is a child’s story, but I read it with inter- 
est ; a good story for children can be enjoyed by anyone. 

I confess this little book I speak of brought tears to my 
eyes.” 

“ I like to hear you say that,” I said, earnestly. 

“Why?”. 

“ It shows that you have sympathy. Only generous 
people are like that. I don’t think you are at all like- 
other young men.” 

“Thank you. Miss Theo ; I like your praise.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


31 


'‘When will you give me the book you bought for your 
sister Edith, Mr. Rushmore.?” I asked, for I wanted 
much to read the story which had “ brought tears to his 
eyes 

He looked at me in quick surprise. 

“ How did you know my sister’^ name was Edith } ” 

“ From this,” I said ; I put my hand in my pocket, drew 
out the letter and laid it on his knee. “You left it in 
‘Jane Eyre’. Please pardon me — I read it. I had to, 
to find out whose it was. But I read only what you had 
written about our family,” I added by way of consolation. 

Mr Rushmore’s pale face flushed crimson as he hastily 
opened the sheet and recognized the penmanship. 

“Just like my carelessness ! Well, what have I written 
here. I don’t remember.” 

“Perhaps you had better read it over and see,” I 
suggested. 

“ Did you show it to anyone } ” he asked, as his quick 
eye ran over the pages. 

“No. You wrote of my sitting up late at night, and I 
don’t want that to be discovered by my family.” 

He looked at me and smiled. 

“What on earth did you think of all this stuff, little 
neighbor.!^” he asked, tapping the paper with his finger. 

“I found it very interesting,” I responded seriously. 

“You ought to be highly offended with me.” 

“It isn’t worth while.” 

“That doesn’t sound very flattering.” 

“I hope not. Flattery is a poor thing.” 

“I beg your pardon, humbly, for anything offensive 
herein, Miss Theo.” 

“What is the use of saying that, Mr. Rushmore.? You 


32 


THEO IVADDINGTON 


meant it all and probably mean it still. You may as well 
send the letter to your friend.” 

“Never! I did mean it all when I wrote it, but I 
don’t ‘ mean it still Nearly all that I say of you in this, 
must come out. You are not at all the sort of child I 
thought you.” 

“But I suppose I do seem to be just as you describe 
me. You and Joe are the only people who know that I 
am different from what I seem. I don’t know how I 
have made you know that, but I feel that I have done 
so. I have never talked so freely to any stranger as I 
have done to you this evening. What has made me, I 
wonder.? ” 

“You intuitively feel my sympathy and it draws you 
out.” 

“I believe that is just it,” I said with a satisfied smile. 

“ Even before I spoke to you this evening, I knew that 
I had been somewhat mistaken in my idea of you. 
Child, there is a restless look in those beautiful eyes of 
yours, which shows me how you must chafe under 
restraint. Your father thinks you perfectly submissive. 
He will have trouble with you one of these days. That 
brow,” he added, touching my forehead with the tips of 
his fingers, “will not long contain his cherished creed. 
He will have trouble with you.” 

Something like fear came into my heart as he spoke, 
for his words sounded to me like a true prophecy. 

“Do you really think so.?” I asked, anxiously. “I 
hope not — oh, I do hope not! ” 

“I have been a fool to speak to you so,” he said, 
abruptly. “I ought to have known better; but I am 
never judicious — always impulsive.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


33 


Thus we talked together until the lawn began to grow 
dark, anti a bell from the house finally summoned us in 
to luncheon. 

Once I asked Mr. Rushmore not to let me keep him 
from the rest of the company. “I don’t mind being 
alone — I rather like it,” was my unintentionally uncom- 
plimentary remark. 

“Do you want me to go } ” he asked. 

“ Not if you wish to stay. I thought you might prefer 
to be with the older girls.” 

“ By no means, I am very well satisfied here. I would 
rather talk to a transparent little soul like you, than to 
the most charming young lady in all the society of 
York.” 

“You are very kind,” I gravely replied. 

When the tennis party was finally over, Mr. Rushmore 
escorted Amy and me home, while Lila walked with the 
organist of our church. 

I thought I had never before spent so pleasant a time 
at a party. 

That night after family prayers, when papa kissed me 
good-night, before dismissing me to my room, his observ- 
ant eyes did not fail to notice something unusual in the 
expression of my face. 

“Why, my little girl, you look rather excited this even- 
ing. Your eyes are shining like stars. What have they 
been doing to you at Judge Canfield’s.^” 

The rest of the family had passed on, ancf we two were 
left alone together in the library. 

“What did you do at Mrs. Canfield’s, to-day, Theo.” 

“I spent the time in watching the others, papa, and” — 

“Did you not play tennis yourself.^ Lila tells me that 


34 


THEO WADDINGTON 


you nearly always steal away alone, when you are at a 
party.” 

“I did not play tennis, papa.” 

“ Why not } That is what you went for, isn’t it ” 

“No, papa; I suppose I went just because I was 
invited.” 

“Well, what happened, that has made you look so 
flushed and excited, my dear ? ” 

— I had a long talk with Mr. Rushmore. I suppose 
it was that.” 

“Oh, you had!” he said, looking rather unpleasantly 
surprised, “ What had he to say to my little girl } ” 

“He talked about a number of things, papa.” 

“ Suppose you tell me a few of them.” 

He sat down in an arm-chair, drew me to his side and 
passed his arm around my waist. His manner toward his 
children was usually very carressing ; but this could never 
break down the reserve and the sense of awe we all felt 
before him always. 

“Now then.^” he said, looking down into my serious 
face. 

“He told me about his sister Edith, and his little 
nephew,” I added cautiously; “and about a number of 
things in New York City — Trinity Church, the Metro- 
politan Museum, the College Settlement, and — oh, papa, 
he was very interesting!” I concluded, with a sudden 
burst of enthusiasm. 

“ He was certainly kind to take the trouble to be enter- 
taining to a little girl like you when there were others 
there, nearer his own age,” papa admitted, a little unwill- 
ingly. I knew he felt a resentment toward the young 
man which he found it impossible to overcome. 


THEO IVADDINGTON 


35 


“He said he liked to talk to me, papa, because I was a 
good listener.” 

“Oh, that was it, was it.? He likes to hear himself 
talk, and doesn’t care to be interrupted .? Then you were 
a good companion for him, my dear, for you are nevei 
very talkative.” 

“But I did talk to him, too, papa,” I hastened to say. 
“I became quite confidential with him.” 

“You did.? What did you tell him.?” he inquired, 
looking at me curiously. 

“Well,” I began in some confusion, “I told him about 
some of the books that I’m fond of. And I told him how 
Harold teaches Amy and me. And he said he should 
like to have me for a pupil.” 

“ He seems to have taken a fancy to Theo, does he .? ” 
papa said, smoothing my hair with his large, white hand. 

“Yes, papa. He is coming over to-morrow, to give me 
a book.” 

“The young man is.,well enough in some respects, but 
I don’t want any of my children to become too intimate 
with him.” 

“ Why, papa .? ” 

“Theo!” he quickly said, in a tone of rebuke. “It is 
never necessary for you to know my reasons for forbid- 
ding you anything.” 

A sudden resolve came into my mind. My conscience 
had often troubled me of late for the deception which I 
felt I practiced with my father. I longed to be more 
candid with him and more true to myself. I did want 
very much to shake off my cowardice. The rare delight 
of my unrestrained confidences with Mr. Rushmore that 
evening, opened a new bud in my awakening soul. The 


30 


r//EO WADDINGTON 


womanhood within me just struggling into life, broke 
forth that night with an unexpected strength. 

“Papa, dear,” I said abruptly, in a voice that was a 
little unsteady, while I felt my face grow warm. 

“Well.^” he inquired gently. 

“I wish you would let me develop my individuality.” 

He looked at me for an instant, surprised and puz- 
zled ; then he smiled, and his keen eyes twinkled with 
amusement. 

Oftentimes that look of amusement had been a propi- 
tious sign and had saved me from rebuke ; but just now 
it irritated me to be regarded only as “a quaint, old- 
fashioned child”. I did wish my father would recognize 
the growing woman in me. 

“Well, of all odd, little people!” he exclaimed. “Tell 
me what you mean, Theo.” 

“ Papa, do you think blind obedience is any advant- 
age.?” I said, groping for a fitting expression of the idea 
which troubled me. “Do you think it is profitable.? 
How can one’s individuality grow when one has no reason 
for what one does .? ” 

“ Ah, I begin to see what you mean,” he said, a little 
startled. “Theo, who has been putting such notions 
into your head .? ” 

“No one. I evolved them myself.” 

“You did, did you.?” he said, elevating his eyebrows 
in a vain endeavor to conceal another smile. “ Well, 
don’t evolve any more. I don’t approve of it.” 

“But notions come into my mind involuntarily, papa. 
I can’t keep myself from thinking.” 

“And you think your father should explain to you his 
reasons for all the commands he lays upon you.? ” 


THRO WADDINGTON 


37 


“ I do not like to act blindly, papa. I am getting too 
old for that. I am thirteen, you know, and I shall soon 
be a woman.” • 

“Your elder brothers and sisters never ask ‘why’.” 

“Well, papa,” I answered, my face growing very 
warm; “I don’t want to grow up as they are doing. 
They never assert themselves. They are like automatons. 
Oh, papa, I want to be myself — not a plaster of paris 
model ! ” 

I could see the astonishment in his eyes as he replied 
to me — “But, Theo, the Bible enjoins unreasoning obedi- 
ence. Remember how Abraham blindly obeyed God and 
was willing even to slay his dear son at God’s command.” 

“I have always felt, papa, that Abraham was a great 
coward to have thought of doing such a thing as killing 
his little boy.” 

“But, my foolish child, he was doing it in obedience to 
God.” 

“I should like him better if he had refused to obey 
such a command. The sin of disobedience is not so bad 
as that of murdering one’s own helpless child. I guess 
Abraham was afraid to disobey God, and preferred to 
.save himself at the expense of his child. You preached a 
sermon once, papa, denouncing the blind obedience of the 
Roman Catholics to their priests. You said some things 
in that sermon which I have never forgotten.” 

In the bottom of his heart, I believe my father was 
proud of my independent daring, in speaking to him so 
candidly. He thought it his duty, however, to perempto- 
rily check such insurrections against parental teaching 
and discipline. 

“Now, Theo,” he said, with a vigorous motion of his 


38 


THEO WAD£)INGT0N 


white, large hand, as he suddenly rose from his chair and 
stood beside me, “I intend to cut short this kind of 
thing, right in the bud ! The very next time I hear any- 
thing more of this sort, I shall punish you ! Do you 
understand me — I shall* punish you ! ” 

I did not tremble before this threat, as I should have 
done a few weeks before. I was possessed of a new-born 
strength that night. It hurt my feelings that my father 
should speak to me so, but I knew that it pained his 
heart more than it did me ; and my own wounded sensi- 
tiveness was converted into a remorseful sympathy for 
the feeling of annoyance I knew I was causing him. 

I looked up at him with large, sorrowful eyes. 

“Don’t you want me to be honest with you, papa?” I 
asked, sadly. 

“Yes, of course I do. But I don’t want you to be 
irreverent and impertinent. I don’t want you to tell 
your father what is his duty. I mean you to yield 

implicit and unquestioning obedience to all my wishes. 
I know what is best for you. You are not on any 
account to ‘assert’ yourself, as you call it. Young 

people in these days are entirely too forward. As for 
your ‘individuality’, I think it is developing entirely too 
rapidly, judging from the things you have been saying to 
me this evening. It rather needs a good setting-back. 
No, Theo, you cannot start out on your own responsi- 
bility yet. You must trust yourself to your father for a 

long time to come. But there! It is half-past nine. 

You ought to be in bed. I’ve kept you up too long. 

Good-night, dear child,” he added, bending to kiss 
“Good-night, and God bless you.” 


me. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


39 


CHAPTER IV 



R. RUSHMORE came over to our house the next 


morning with the book he had promised me. I 
had been studying my lessons in my own room when the 
maid knocked at my door and announced my visitor. My 
first feeling on being informed that Mr. Rushmore was in 
the library waiting to see me, was a very flattered one, 
that he should have asked especially and only for me. 
But it was speedily followed by a sense of embarrass- 
ment at the prospect of being compelled to entertain him 
alone and unaided. 

As I was going slowly down stairs, however, the door 
of papa’s study beside the first landing, suddenly opened, 
and my father stepped out before me. I stopped instinct- 
ively at sight of him, as though discovered in some guilt. 

“Where are you going, Theo?” 

“To the library, papa.” 

“What for, my dear?” 

“Mr. — Mr. Rushmore has — has called to see me.” 

“Go back to your room, my dear.” 

“But, papa, he” — 

A slight, decided motion of my father’s hand, toward 
my room, interrupted me at once, and I turned about and 
obeyed, without another word. At the same time, papa 
moved on down the stair- way, to go, I felt sure, to the 
library, and himself receive my visitor. 


40 


THEO WADDINGTOA^ 


Seated once more in my own little room by the win- 
dow, my elbows leaning on the sill, and my cheeks rest- 
ing against my palms, I let my fancy follow the scene 
which I surmised would take place between them. 

“ Papa will be very cold and haughty to Mr. Rush- 
more,” I told myself; but the thought did not trouble 
me, for I felt certain that the young man could hold his 
own right well. 

“Papa will, without insulting him, treat him in such a 
way that he will know his visits are not wanted here. I 
know just how papa will do it. He can be so cold and 
proud to people when he wants to. And he does dis- 
approve of Mr. Rushmore so much. I have never yet 
seen anyone who could stand up against papa’s dis- 
approval — but I am sure Mr. Rushmore will be able to.” 

My visitor must have been dispatched in very short 
order. Only a few moments after I had gone to my 
room, my door was again opened and papa came in. I 
observed at once that he had a small book in his hand. 

He walked over to where I sat by the window and laid 
it in my lap. 

“Mr. Rushmore has left this for you, Theo. I have 
glanced at it, and find it an innocent little story, so of 
course I have no objections to your reading it. When 
you have finished it, give it to me, and I’ll return it to 
the young man.” 

“ But, papa, he said he wanted to talk it over with me 
when I had finished it.” 

“ I am afraid you will have to forego that pleasure, as I 
have decided that it is best for you to have nothing what- 
ever to do with Mr. Rushmore. If he offers you any 
more books, refuse to take them.” 


THEO WA D DING TON 


41 


“Papa, must I be rude to him.” 

“If politeness interferes with your ol^edience to me, 
yes,” he responded, laying his large hand on my head and 
looking down into my eyes. 

I said nothing in reply to this. I knew there was no 
appeal from his decision. And he, seeing me apparently 
quite submissive, lingered no longer, but turned away and 
left the room. 

For many days after that morning, I felt that my 
father’s eyes were watching me more closely than they 
had ever done before ; but he failed to observe me in any 
practical expression of the independent views I had put 
forth on the evening of Miss Canfield’s tennis party. 
However, our little talk on that occasion was not lost 
upon him. It remained with him for a long time. 

One day I overheard him make a remark to my mother 
which troubled me not a little. They were sitting in 
papa’s study, while I was dusting the furniture in the 
adjoining bedroom. 

“Mamma dear,” he said (he invariably called her 
“mamma”, and she never addressed him by any other 
term than “papa”. It seemed to me that they must 
have called each other thus, while they did their court- 
ing.) “ Mamma dear, do you know that our little Theo 
is not exactly the mild, dutiful child she seems to be } ” 

“Why, what has she been doing, papa.^^” mamma 
inquired, looking up anxiously from the fine sewing she 
held in her soft hands. 

“ Oh, she has not been doing anything wrong. She is 
generally very obedient ; but she has taken to thinking 
for herself in a most independent fashion of late. She is 
an unusual child, I think — quite different from our other 


42 


THEO WADDINGTON 


children. She will have to be kept down, or she will be 
giving us some trouble. She is inclined to weigh and 
ponder things in a manner which, if she be not carefully 
guided, will lead her, as she grows older, into some such 
errors as our young neighbor, Rushmore, has become a 
victim.” 

“Why, what makes you think such dreadful things of 
Theo, papa.^ She is a very affectionate, dear child.” 

“ I know she is, mamma. And she is a very interest- 
ing little girl, too. I must say I am proud of Theo for 
somethings; but — often while I’m preaching, she fixes 
those clear eyes of hers upon my face in a way that 
makes me feel I am being judged and measured, and that, 
too, by my own child.” 

“I am sure papa is a little mistaken,” I told myself. 
“I do not sit in judgment on his preaching. His ser- 
mons are always so interesting that I am usually lost in 
listening to them, and never stop to judge them. But — 
often I can’t help wondering when he tells me so many 
things about God and His actions and His plans, how he 
can be so familiar with God’s mind. It sounds some- 
times as though he and God were even partners. I often 
wonder if he doesn’t make up some of it, just as I make 
up stories to myself, when I can’t go to sleep at night. 
But can papa really tell, by looking at me while he is 
preaching, that I am having such thoughts about him.?” 
I asked myself with uneasiness, as I sat perched on my 
high seat, in the wide window, looking dreamily out into 
the street. “Very inconvenient indeed, to have an 
expressive face,” I decided. I remembered having once 
read in Swedenborg’s “Heaven and Hell” how that the 
angels’ souls are perfectly transparent, and that they can- 


THEO WADDINGTON 


43 


not conceal from each other any thoughts which happen 
to pass through their minds ; and I recalled how unpleas- 
ant I had felt this must be ; for during all my little life, 
I had been learning to conceal my own real thoughts, 
feelings and wishes, to bury them out of sight as one 
would hide a deformity or a shame. 

“I must get my face under better control,” I told 
myself — learning in that moment another lesson in the 
art of self-concealment ; taking in that decision another 
step in the formation of a character which in maturity 
would be full of proud reserve and utter lack of sponta- 
neousness ; hardening myself, externally at least, into the 
mould of my father’s ideal. 

I could not bear to displease him. I was morbidly 
sensitive to praise or blame, and I could not have borne 
to live under his disapproval. An atmosphere of affec- 
tion and approbation seemed necessary to my very 
existence. 

My profoundly serious meditation in the window sill 
was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a ring at our 
front door-bell, a very unwelcome sound to me ; for this 
was Saturday afternoon, the time when some church 
members were sure to call — and I disliked above all 
things to be compelled to sit up in the parlor and try to 
entertain our visitors. 

So, immediately upon hearing the bell, I slid down 
from my perch on the window sill, and hurried from the 
room. And yet I well knew that if the person at the 
bell were a caller I should be very soon summoned back 
again. 

Great, then, was my relief, as I was hurrying up stairs, 
to hear, just below me in the hall, the gay voice of our 


44 


THEO WADDINGTON 


friend, Alice Canfield. She had spied my retreating 
figure the moment the servant had admitted her at the 
door, and immediately had called to me— 

“Theo! Don’t run away, please ! It’s neither Deacon 
Andrews nor Sister Benade — only Alice the benighted ! ” 

I turned at once and ran down stairs again. I did not 
object to being entertained by Alice. My sisters and I 
always eagerly welcomed her bright visits to us, as a 
glimpse at a phase of life quite different from that of 
our orderly, well-regulated household. For Alice was a 
young lady of high spirit, of fashionable habits and of an 
independence, which seemed to my mild, modest sisters 
and myself to be most extraordinary. She was the 
indulged child of very fond parents whose means of grat- 
ifying her every fancy were almost unlimited ; for Judge 
Canfield was the wealthiest man in the prosperous city of 
York, and his daughter was the flattered pet of the gay- 
est society of our town. 

“I’m glad you’ve come, Alice,” I said, as I joined her 
in the hall. 

“Then I know you are glad, for you never tell fibs — 
not even conventional ones, do you, Theo ? Where are 
the girls.?” she added, without waiting for a reply. 

“Up stairs in the sitting-room. Come right up. 
They’ll be glad to see you. It’s been so quiet and dull 
here to-day. You will rouse us, won’t you .? ” 

“Of course I shall,” she responded, slipping her arm 
through mine, as together we went up the steps ; she was 
not much taller than I, although four years my senior. 
“ Is your papa home .? ” 

She was always sure to ask that question very early in 
the course of a visit to us, for she liked nothing better 


THEO WADDINGTON 


45 


than a bold encounter with him. Our perfect submission 
to “the head of the family” was a constant source of 
wonder and amusement to her, even as her entire ease 
and boldness with him were a puzzle and an astonish- 
ment to us. She had never known what it was to be con- 
trolled by anyone. 

“Yes, papa is here. Why do you want to know.^” I 
inquired abruptly. “Did you come to see him V 

“I came to see you all,” she declared emphatically; 
“and if your papa puts in an appearance, I sha’n’t run 
away.” 

We found my sisters seated in the bay-window of 
the sitting-room. Amy was studying her Sunday School 
lesson and Lila embroidering. They were both looking 
rather dull when we walked in upon them, but the sight 
of Alice aroused them perceptibly. 

“What a perfectly cosey room this seems, coming in 
out of that detestably horrid rain ! ” exclaimed our visitor, 
throwing herself into a low chair, before a bright, open- 
grate fire, flinging her muff into a corner and proceeding 
to unbutton her seal-skin jacket. “It is so perfectly 
home-like here.” 

I well understood how it was that Alice should be so 
impressed with the. home-like cosiness of our house. Our 
church and home-life were our whole life, and every room 
in the parsonage was a living room upon which was 
impressed the characteristics of our family, as a whole; 
whereas Alice’s home had always seemed to me like a 
great, elegant, gay hotel, of which I should in time grow 
inexpressibly weary. 

Seating ourselves in comfortable easy-chairs about the 
bright open grate, we prepared to have a snug, pleasant 


40 


THEO WADDINGTON 


hour with our chatty, lively guest; the pelting of the 
chill rain against the deep bay-window seemed only to 
enhance our delightful sense of the warmth and comfort 
within doors. 

My sister Amy had taken care, before seating herself, 
to pick up Alice’s carelessly discarded muff and lay it on 
the table. 

“ How characteristic of you to do that ! ” observed 
Alice with a laugh. “Don’t you ever fling your things 
around.^” she added, with genuine curiosity in her voice 
and eyes. 

“No, indeed,” said Amy; “I’ve been too well brought 
up for that. I don’t know what papa would say to me if 
he should ever see me come into a room and fling my 
things on the floor! ” 

Lila and I could not repress a smile at the unheard-of 
picture which these words brought up. 

“ Lock you up and feed you on bread and water for a 
week, I suppose,” Alice suggested. “But really,” she 
added seriously, “ why don’t you try it some time t It 
would be so interesting to see what he would do. Why, 
if I were in your place I should be experimenting with 
him all the time.’' 

“I think you would not,” Lila remarked, with a quiet 
smile. 

“I just should then, Lila Waddington. It would be 
more fun than six parties to defy Papa Waddington. I 
do love to watch the workings of that man’s mind when 
he is being defied in Sunday School by disorderly boys. 
Last Sunday, for instance, he tapped the bell for order, 
but no order came. He tapped again and yet again — 
same result — derisive mirth from some future citizens. 


THEO WADDJNGTON 


47 


He looked as though he thought it couldn’t be, as who 
should say — ‘What! Am I awake or dream I? Did 
that boy really disobey me while I looked at him ? Must 
I resort to the vulgar expedient of speaking twice?’ 
Oh,” she added, “shouldn’t I love to be your papa’s 
daughter for about one week I ” 

In my secret heart, I half shared her wish. It would 
be an interesting spectacle, I thought, to see my ponder- 
ous papa being defied by a mere girl. As a matter of 
speculation I felt tempted to try the experiment myself. 
But a moment’s meditation made me realize that this 
would not be advisable. 

“I should think you would find it awfully monotonous 
to be obedient all the time,” Alice declared. 

“Please, Alice, don’t speak so loud,” Amy anxiously 
said. “Papa is in his study just across the hall.” 

“Well, what of that? I’m not afraid of him. I think 
he is just too perfectly nice for anything! I just adore 
a masterful, domineering man if he is also real clever, like 
your father is. But I should think you would find it 
monotonous to mind him all the time.” 

“Tell us what you’ve been doing lately, Alice,” Lila 
said, a wistfulness coming into her eyes as she spoke, 
which made me, as I observed it, suddenly wish very 
earnestly that my sister might enjoy some of the pleas- 
ures for which she envied our friend. 

“You know I got back from my Boston trip just a 
week ago,” Alice responded. “Since then I’ve been 
literally stagnating in this pokey town, and this after- 
noon when it began to rain, I just declared to‘ mamma 
that I was going to tear over to the Waddington’s — for I 
always do enjoy myself here — you’re all so droll.” 


48 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“Don’t you have any lessons to study since you’ve 
come home from Lake Hall Seminary?” Lila asked, envi- 
ously ; for her school-tasks were the torment of her life. 

“I should think not,” exclaimed Alice. “Mamma 
wants me to take up a course of historical reading and 
offers to engage some frightfully intelligent companion 
for me; but I tell her I’ve already imbibed all the histor- 
ical erudition I ever mean to imbibe. Who wants to 
know a lot of facts and dates about a lot of old dead fel- 
lows? I’m sure I don’t ; I’m so glad I’m through school. 
Boarding schools are perfectly vile ! Now if I were ever 
to get one up, it would be the right kind of one. It 
should be on a grand, magnificent scale. No girl should 
be admitted who brought with her less than forty gowns 
and fifty gold stick-pins. Tuition should cost thirty-five 
hundred dollars a year — music, twenty-five hundred extra. 
There should be only one hour a day devoted to lessons. 
The bedrooms should be fixed off with embroidered India 
silk hangings and Turkish rugs. The class-rooms should 
be provided with beautifully cushioned ottomans. Every 
girl should be required to bring a waiting-maid. Worth, 
from Paris, and Huyler, the confectioner, should live 
right in the school.” 

“I should set up a hospital next door to you, Alice,” 
said Lila. “You would need one at the end of the first 
year.” 

“Don’t interrupt! I’d have lots of butlers standing 
around everywhere. An orchestra for dancing should be 
in the house all the time. We should have two full dress 
parties every week, to which lots of lovely young fel- 
lows should be invited. The school should be situated 
at West Point. The teacher of music should receive a 


THEO WADDINGTON 


40 


salary of thirty thousand dollars. The Greek teacher 
should get twenty-five thousand dollars. Every summer 
the whole school should take a trip to Europe. Every 
girl should be obliged to study Mental Philosophy — the 
vilest study, girls, in the world, but so improving — in 
which you learn that you’ve got an ‘instinctive sponta- 
neity Did you know it } Did you ever experience any 
‘complemental co-efficiencies’.? And then those awful 
‘objective cognitions’ and ‘subjective conceptions’ — oh, 
they are just horrid ! Every pupil in this school of mine 
should be required to study Mental Philosophy. The 
name of the school must be ‘Croesus Hall.’ But there! 
Don’t let’s talk school. I never mean to study another 
line of anything as long as I live ! I mean to have a 
perfectly gorgeous time always I ” 

Alice always enjoyed herself thoroughly whenever she 
came to see us, for she was very fond of hearing herself 
talk, and she certainly found in us an appreciative little 
audience. She was a sort of curiosity to us, with her 
knowledge of the fashionable world, her perfect freedom 
from all restraint, her utter lack of reverence and fear. 
We were quite content to listen to her entertaining chat 
in silence and with an attention that to her was most 
gratifying. 

“You must have a great deal of leisure, Alice,” Lila 
said again, wistfully; “don’t you.?” 

“Oh, my, yes. I don’t know what to do with myself 
half the time. The only amusement to be had at pres- 
ent is from the huge, gay-colored, theatrical advertise- 
ments on Orange street. This time it’s a confiding, 
nestling young thing who clingeth coyly to the arm of a 
man who eyes the door with a pair of very round, aggres- 


50 


THEO WADDINGTON 


sive eyes which seem to say, ‘ One of us will have to 
die!’ Oh, dear,” she added, “I wish the gay season 
would hurry along. There is to be a german at Mrs. 
Kalrock’s as the opening party for the winter.” 

Lila sighed deeply. 

“Poor Lila!” Alice impulsively said. “I am so sorry 
your papa won’t allow you to go to dances. I think he 
is just too perfectly mean for anything ! ” 

Amy got up hastily to see that the door was securely 
closed. Lila smiled faintly at her friend’s audacity, and I 
felt somewhat shocked at her flagrant irreverence. 

“Are there to be many dances and parties this win- 
ter.?” Lila asked. 

“Yes, lots, I think.” 

“You will see your cousin, Mr. Rushmore, very often 
then, won’t you .? ” I said. “ He goes into society a great 
deal, doesn’t he.?” 

“ Yes, he’s the Great Mogul of the town, just now. He 
will be asked to every party which is given this winter.” 

“Do you like him.?” I persisted. 

“I think he is perfectly lovely!” she declared; “only 
he is such an intellectuality! He carries Emerson about 
with him for light reading, and sports gaily among John 
Stuart Mill, Kant, Hegel, etc. Yesterday he took 
luncheon with us.” 

“ I envy you your opportunity of seeing him so often. 
He’s so very interesting,” I remarked. 

“ Listen to little Theo ! ” cried Alice, laughing. “ Why, 
what a joke! I must tell him about it.” 

“And please tell him, I said, in a low voice, “that 
I m sorry I couldn’t see him that day when he brought 
me a book to read. But papa wouldn’t let me.” 


THEO IVADD/NGTON 


51 


‘‘What an idea! But I know your papa doesn’t like 
my cousin one bit. He disapproves of his views. I 
disapprove of them, myself,” she added, with comical 
severity. “ Cousin Horace Rushmore is entirely too 
pessimistic.” 

“So am I,” I said, promptly. “I am very pessimistic.” 

“Well,” laughed Alice, “I should be so, too, if I were 
kept down as you aro.” 

“It isn’t that,” I replied. “It isn’t that alone.” 

“What is it then, childie.^” she asked, curiously, put- 
ting out her hand and laying it on my two which were 
clasped in my lap. 

“I believe there comes, in nearly all young lives,” I 
said with profound gravity, “a time when nothing seems 
worth living for. I, for my part, have been quite sure 
for some time past, that it was a great mistake for me 
ever to have been born.” 

“ Isn’t Theo the queerest little thing that ever lived } ” 
demanded Alice. “For my part. I’m not at all sorry 
that I was hatched ! ” 

“Theo,” said Amy gravely, “I think you had better 
not say anything like that before papa ; he might not like 
it. Because, you know, it seems irreverent to be sorry 
you were born, when God made you.” 

Alice laughed gayly. “You girls are always so kill- 
ing I ” she exclaimed. “ Anyone would know that your 
father was a minister to hear you talk ten minutes.” 

My sister Amy’s virtue, by the way, was always of a 
somewhat severe order. Lila, on the other hand, was 
like mamma, mild and perfectly amiable. Our individual 
traits, however, seldom appeared very prominently on the 
surface. 


52 


TIIEO WADDINGTON 


“ Here comes papa, now,” I observed suddenly, as I 
detected the unmistakable foot-steps in the hall outside 
the sitting-room door. 

“I hope he will come in here,” Alice said; “I like 
nothing better than an encounter with ‘ Pa Waddington 
as my cousin, Horace Rushmore, calls him.” 

Even while she spoke the door opened and papa’s large 
form, in black, clerical garb, came quietly into the room. 
Silence at once fell upon all of us, except Alice, as he 
approached the open-grate fire, around which we were 
grouped. 

“Dr. Waddington, how do you do .^ ” Alice promptly 
said, rising and holding out her hand. 

“ How do you do } ” said papa, a little coldly, yet shak- 
ing her hand very cordially and looking at her keenly. I 
think that Alice always interested him ; I had noticed 
that he seldom failed to appear in our midst when she 
came to pay us a visit. 

“Well, how about the trip to Boston he said, as she 
stood before him. “Did you have a pleasant time.!* ” 

“Yes, indeed — a perfectly dear time! Among other 
things, we went to hear Phillips Brooks ; we were woe- 
fully disappointed, but swore we were not — only to learn 
later that the preacher’s name was Smith; and that disap- 
pointment would have been the proper feeling to have 
exhibited ! ” 

Papa bit his lips to conceal a smile, for he did not like 
to encourage this young lady. But quite undaunted by 
' his rather chilling manner, she continued to chatter to 
him, while we all sat still and gazed in amused wonder at 
her display of courage. ; 

“We visited every place of interest in the city,” she 


THEO WADDINGTON 


53 


said. “We ‘ohed’ and ‘ahed’ at the Public Gardens; 
thrilled at the Common, gazed with awe upon the Back 
Bay, etc., voraciously, and gadded about in the most 
approved Cook’s tourist style. We took a steamboat 
ride on the bay and Cousin Gertrude became frightfully 
sea-sick. You should have seen her. Dr. Waddington, 
when, utterly disgusted with life, she threw herself on her 
birth, drew a buffalo-robe over her, so that nothing could 
be seen of her except one foot sticking out below — and a 
more discouraged, disappointed, dejected looking foot, I 
never saw ! ” 

Alice evidently expected papa to be much amused at 
her vivacity ; but he remained quite grave, despite her 
utmost efforts. 

“I am glad you had a pleasant trip,” he said, abruptly. 
“Are your father and mother well ” (the usual clerical 
inquiry.) 

“I didn’t ask them before I came. I’ll do so as soon 
as I get home, and telephone to you — shall I 

Amy almost held her breath at this playful audacity, 
while I half expected to see papa box Alice’s ears. But 
he only drew his snowy handkerchief across his mouth, 
and then said — 

“You need not trouble to telephone. I expect to see 
your papa this evening at prayer-meeting. And now I 
must ask you to excuse me,” he added ; “ I am just going 
out. Shall I see you when I come back. Miss Alice 

“I think not. Dr. Waddington. But before you tear 
yourself away, I have a request to make.” 

Papa drew his watch from his pocket, glanced at it, put 
it back and then looked all attention into Alice’s bright, 
pretty face. 


54 


THEO WADDINGTON 


‘‘Promise me you will say yes,” she said, coaxingly. 

“What is the request?” 

“I’m going to have a theatre-party next Tuesday 
night ; Fanny Davenport is coming, you know, and I 
want you to let Lila and Amy and Theo come to it, 
won’t you please, Dr. Waddington ? Now don’t say no. 
Can’t they come ?” 

“A theatre-party!” said papa. “Then your father 
allows you to go to theatres ?” 

“Why, of course he does ! I’d make the greatest sort 
of a fuss if he tried to keep me from going to theatres ; 
I perfectly adore the theatre. And Dr. Waddington, 
Fanny Davenport is going to play Fedora on Tuesday 
night, and it is such a sweetly pretty thing, so you 
really must let the girls come with me. Then we are to 
have a supper afterward at our house — and oh, it’s going 
to be perfectly lovely. We’ll have a dear time. Mayn’t 
they come ? ” 

“No child of mine shall ever see the inside of a thea- 
tre. And I’m very sorry — very sorry indeed. Miss 
Alice — to hear that you go to such places.” 

“Can’t you just let Lila go, then, if you think Amy 
and Theo are too young ? ” 

“I have told you, my dear child, that none of them 
can go. We will say nothing more about it. And now 
I must be off. Good-afternoon.” 

He shook her hand, turned away and left the room. 

Alice, with a disappointed pout on her lips, threw her- 
self back in her chair, and gave vent to an utterance 
which quite astounded us — 

“I think he is a horrid, mean pig !” 

Lila smiled, I looked shocked, Amy flushed slightly. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


55 


and said hastily, “Alice, I won’t hear you speak so dis- 
respectfully of my father in my presence.” 

Alice laughed merrily. “Listen to Amy!” she cried, 
patting her on the shoulder. “But really, childie,” she 
said earnestly, “ of course I didn’t mean to be disrespect- 
ful. I suppose you all think me very perfectly awful, but 
you know I really do like your papa immensely, and when 
he called me * my dear child ’ a moment ago, I thought 
him just perfect. I don’t wonder that you girls are all 
so fond of him. But now tell me, which one of you will 
have the courage to run off on Tuesday evening and go to 
the theatre with us. Will you, Lila } ” 

“I shouldn’t dare do such a thing,” Lila answered 
breathlessly. 

“ Amy, will you } ” demanded Alice. 

“I have been taught to disapprove of theatres,” was 
my sister’s virtuous reply. 

“Theo, will you .? ” 

“ I should love to see a theatre, Alice, but I should be 
afraid to run off and disobey papa.” 

“But the fun will be worth all the scolding you will 
get,” persuaded Alice. “Don’t be a coward, Theo. 
Come, promise you will go I ” 

“ I would not hurt papa’s feelings by deliberately dis- 
regarding his wishes.” 

Even as I spoke, however, I remembered my secret 
note-book and the clandestine good times I was accus- 
tomed to have with it nearly every night when I was sup- 
posed to be in bed. But this mild disobedience did not 
seem to me so outrageous as “running off to the thea- 
tre”. The word “theatre” had to me a most hollow, 
wicked sound; yet I fear it was for this very reason 


56 


THEO WADDINGTON 


that my depraved little heart longed very much to see 
one. 

“I suppose there is no use coaxing you,” Alice finally 
remarked, with a deep, discouraged sigh; “so I think I 
must begin to prepare to commence to go,” she abruptly 
added, beginning to button her seal-skin cloak, “Come 
to see me real soon, girls, all of you — don’t forget. I’ll 
make you have a perfectly gorgeous time ! ” 

“I can’t bear to have you go,” said Lila, sadly, as she 
walked with her lively friend to the door. “You cheer 
us up so much.” 

“Take my advice, don’t be so weak and you’ll have a 
much better time!” were the parting words of our guest. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


67 


CHAPTER V 

W HAT are you sighing about, Theo?” Joe asked 
me, as he joined me one evening after dinner, 
while I sat alone in the library, on the rug before the 
open-grate fire. “You are going from bad to worse, 
Solomon. Lately I notice you’ve taken to sitting alone 
in the dark a great deal. Why do you ^ ” 

“It is so lovely to just sit and look into the fire and 
think ; for I love to think. Sometimes it makes me per- 
fectly happy.” 

Joe sat down on the floor beside me, resting his elbow 
on the carpet and leaning his head on his hand. 

“Well, what were you thinking about just as I came 
in ? You were sighing over it.” 

“ I was thinking over my experiences of this afternoon. 
Mamma and Amy and I were out calling,” and here I 
heaved another sigh from the depths of my unsocial soul. 

“ Give us an account of it, and make it right funny, I 
want to be entertained,” and he settled himself into a 
more comfortable position, preparatory to giving me close 
attention. 

“I can’t be funny, Joe, as Alice Canfield is sometimes, 
if that’s what you mean.” 

“You’re always more or less funny, Solomon, although 
of course you don’t mean to be. You’re a comical little 
thing, naturally, whereas Alice tries to be funny, and 


58 


THEO WADDINGTON 


often I just feel like saying to her, “Oh, come off the 
band-wagon ! ” 

“Was she on a band-wagon?” I asked, scandalized. 

“Slang!” explained Joe, briefly, and with a chuckle of 
amusement at my ignorance. 

“Joe!” I said abruptly, in a low, startled whisper. 

“ What ? ” he asked calmly. 

“I thought I heard some one laugh, just now, at the 
other end of the room,” I whispered nervously. “Lis- 
ten — do you hear anything ? ” 

“Nonsense! ” he said, trying to peer around him in the 
dim room. “Now don’t be having fancies. I’m with 
you, and I’ll take care of you.” 

“But, Joe, I’m sure I heard some one laugh just when 
you laughed.” 

“ Echo,” he suggested. “ Now do go ahead and tell me 
about your calls, and don’t forget to make it funny.” 

“I’ll try,” I said humbly. “But it isn’t a very funny 
subject. It is a great trial to go visiting.” 

“What are some of the objections?” 

“Well, one has to tell untruths, Joe, when one is mak- 
ing calls. To-day, I told Mrs. Allison I was glad to see 
her, but I was not at all, and had been so disappointed to 
find she was at home. She treated us to cakes, and asked 
me if I did not think they were very nice, and said she 
had made them herself. Now, Joe, they were hard, sour 
and underdone. So what was I to say ? I hesitated and 
blushed and stammered, and then finally said I didn’t 
like them. I know Mrs. Allison will never forgive me for 
that, but I can’t tell a lie; it sticks in my throat.” 

“You have no tact, Solomon. You should have said, 
^Well, Mrs. Allison, tastes differ about cakes, as about all 


THEO IVADDINGTON 


59 


Other things. Now I like cakes to be soft, sweet and 
well done. I like ’ ” — 

‘^Joe,” 1 said, deprecatingly, “you are incorrigible.” 

“ Perhaps I am — whatever that may mean. Well, go 
on with your complaints ; whom else did you visit } ” 

“ Mrs. Brabant. She was at home,” I added, sadly. 
“It is such a relief to find them out, Joe.” 

“Solomon, I’m afraid you’re a misanthrope — isn’t that 
the right word ? ” 

“ Yes ; and I fear I am losing my faith in human 
nature,” I said, seriously. 

“ Is that what misanthropes do ? ” 

“Certainly, Joe. Now, this afternoon, Mrs. Brabant 
talked to us for fully fifteen minutes about how fond her 
daughter was of teaching in the primary public schools, 
and how devotedly she loved the little children ; she said 
her daughter taught from pure love of pedagogy and not 
at all for the sake of a salary. But, Joe, when we had 
left her house and were walking along the street toward 
home, we happened to meet her daughter, who was just 
coming from the school in which she teaches. She 
stopped to speak with us for a minute, and what do you 
think she said ? ” 

“ Something which has made you look very mournful. 
What was it ? ” 

“ She told us she was half dead with fatigue, and that 
she just hated to teach children, and she was perfectly 
sure she should murder some of them, some day.” 

“ Mrs. Brabant and her daughter should have consulted 
together before talking to strangers,” was Joe’s comment. 
“Whom else did you visit.?” 

“ We went to Miss Starling’s. She lives all alone, you 


60 


THEO WADDINGTON 


know — does not keep any servant. She was arranging 
her supper-table when we arrived, as neatly and carefully 
as though she were going to have a party. That made 
me fall to wondering if I could ever possibly take so 
much care merely for myself. I think it would seem like 
such a waste of time, don’t you, Joe, to spread a cloth 
and set a table just for yourself.^ I think if I lived alone, 
I should, whenever I felt hungry, just go to the closet, 
seize some cake and bread and retire with them and a 
book to a comfortable couch, and there devour both. I 
couldn’t be formal with myself, could you, Joe } ” 

“ No ; I feel too intimate with myself for that. Why, 
I’ve known myself for fifteen years, and I feel entitled to 
all the privileges of so long an acquaintance. But what 
did she^ have for supper ? ” was his unexpected question. 
“Why do you want to know that ? ” 

“ I’m hungry ; papa would not let me have any dinner 
to-night, you know, because I went to the creek instead 
of going to the ‘Young Folks’ Service’ at the church 
this afternoon.” 

“I’m so sorry, Joe,” I said, sympathetically. “Per- 
haps,” I added, lowering my voice, “perhaps I can find 
some cold chicken in the pantry for you.” 

“ Good for you, Solomon. You’re a trump ! But don’t 
let papa catch you. He would be awfully rattled ! And 
then we would both be in the soup ! But tell me, Solo- 
mon, what parts of the chickens were left ? Was there a 
gizzard or a heart or any other of the works ? I like the 
works better than legs and wings.” 

“ I’ll try to find you some then. But I had better not 
go to the pantry until papa and Mr. Udell and the rest of 
them have gone to the Synod.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


(U 


“All right. And then we will skirmish together.” 

“Joe,” I said, sorrowfully, “I wish we did not have to 
be deceitful.” 

“ Oh, don’t go and get saintly like Lila and Amy. You 
are my only comfort in this house, Solomon ; so don’t go 
back on me. I can’t ever find any congenial society here, 
except you.” 

I felt this to be very high praise; I loved Joe with my 
whole heart. Unlike as we were in many respects, there 
was yet a stronger bond of sympathy between him and 
me than between any other two dispositions in our 
household.” 

“ I hope they will soon get off to church, for I’m 
blasted hungry,” he said, with a deep sigh. “I wish I 
had gone to their confounded old ‘Young Folks’ Service’ 
this afternoon. Frank Marks said it was fun. The boys 
in papa’s Bible class were all there, and they gave papa a 
present, you know ; and young Tom Drayton made the 
presentation before the whole congregation, and fired a 
speech at papa. You know Tom Drayton’s about the 
softest mess that ever lived ! Well, Frank said his speech 
was a dandy. ‘Dear pastor,’ he began. Imagine, Solo- 
mon — ‘ Dear pastor ! ’ And Joe suddenly rolled over 
the floor with such a peal of laughter that I was quite 
startled. But his mirth was checked as abruptly as it 
had burst forth. “If papa should hear me, he would 
think I wasn’t sorry for having gone to the creek instead 
of attending the ‘Young Folks’ Service’,” he said, sud- 
denly sobering and sitting upright again; “but I am pen- 
itent — very — for having lost my dinner.” 

“Joe, you may not like to hear me say it, but if I were 
a boy, I think I should be a clergyman when I grew up.” 


62 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“ Say it as much as you please ; since you are not a 
boy it can’t make any difference. But you are a goose, 
Solomon,” he said, with a yawn. “Preachers have got to 
be so all-fired good. Look at Harold,” he added, with 
some contempt in his tone. “What fun does he ever 
have } Why, he might as well be one of you girls. If I 
were one of you girls,” he exclaimed with sudden desper- 
ation, “I should commit suicide!” 

“I don’t care very much about fun,” I said, doubtfully, 
“and I admire ministers very much. It is odd, the feel- 
ing I have toward them — a different feeling from that 
which I have toward any other people. There seems to 
be a sanctity about a minister, Joe.” 

“What’s that.?” he inquired, sceptically. 

“Something not easily defined,” I said, rather eva- 
sively, not feeling equal to a clear explanation of my 
remark. 

“ Did you go to see any other people besides Mrs. Alli- 
son and Mrs. Brabant and Miss Starling.?” he asked, 
returning to our former topic. 

“Yes; we went to Mrs. Deighton’s. She is so pecul- 
iar. Her” — 

“Oh, I know,” he interrupted; “she is the old woman 
who is afraid of draughts, isn’t she .? Stuffs her keyholes 
with cotton and won’t sit on a cane-seat chair.” 

“She told us this afternoon,” I said, “that she often 
wonders why people have to go on living when they have 
passed the time of their usefulness. ^Why can’t we die, 
instead of hanging on so long after we are helpless .? ’ she 
said. And then she added with a sigh, ‘Well, well, I 
sometimes think we are spared just to be a trial to other 
folks 


THEO WADDINGTON 


63 


“Well,” said Joe, stretching himself more comfortably 
on the rug, “I half believe there would be a* little fun in 
making calls, as you girls have to do.” 

“ It isn’t the acme of happiness, Joe,” I said with 
unwonted sarcasm. “ My great trial in making calls is, 
that I can never think of anything to talk about to peo- 
ple. Now, for instance, when we had all gotten seated at 
Mrs. Brabant’s this afternoon, she started out by asking 
me if I was well, and I said yes, and thanked her and 
asked her if she were enjoying her usual good health, and 
she said yes, and thanked me ; and then she asked me if it 
wasn’t a lovely day, and I said it was just like spring, and 
she said she had never seen a November day more like 
spring, and I said it was almost as warm as summer, and 
she said she wouldn’t know it from a day in August ; so 
we went on ; and I just hate making calls ! ” 

It was just at this interesting point of our conversation 
that we were suddenly interrupted by the sound of papa’s 
voice in the hall, calling to Joe. 

“Blast it!” Joe exclaimed, as he heard it; “papa’s 
going to make me go to church with him. I’m afraid — 
and on an empty stomach ! How shall I ever sit it 
out.?” 

“ I’ll put a dish of food in your closet while you are 
gone,” I hastily whispered. “Look for it when you come 
home.” 

“You’re a regular brick, Solomon!” he responded, as 
he drew himself up from the floor. “Good-by, you jolly 
little cove ! I’ll say a prayer for you.” 

With that, he was gone ; and once more I found myself 
alone in the dim library. 


04 


THEO WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER VI 

I WATCHED them from the library window as they 
all started for church. There were papa, mamma, 
Joe, Harold, Ambrose, Amy and Mr. Dorrick, one of our 
clerical guests. Mr. Udell was not with them. I 
decided he must have gone on ahead of the party. Lila 
and I had been excused from joining them, as we both had 
slight colds which prevented our going out in the night 
air. My father was not less careful of our physical 
health than he was of our moral well-being. His children 
were very precious to him. 

When they had all gone, I continued to linger by the 
window, curled up in a huge arm-chair, my elbows leaning 
against the broad, low sill, and my cheeks resting in my 
two hands — an attitude I involuntarily assumed, when- 
ever I fell into a meditative mood. How many hours, 
in both childhood and maturity, have I thus dreamed 
away in idleness ! 

I wondered, as I gazed listlessly out of the window 
into the dimly-lighted street, whether Mr. Rushmore had 
gone over to my father s church this evening; for I saw 
no light in his windows. 

“Joe says Mr. Rushmore doesn’t believe in God,” 
thought I. “What a comfort that must be to him ! ” 

In the bottom of my young heart, I had a feeling 
(unacknowledged even to myself) of dislike toward my 


THEO WADDINGTON 


6 ") 


father’s God. I really thought him an extremely unpleas- 
ant personage. I had a secret sense of indignation and 
contempt for the cowardly advantage I understood that 
He in His superior strength and power, took of His weak 
and erring children, when in anger He condemned the 
unconverted to everlasting pain. Of course I had been 
taught of God’s love as well as of His “justice”; but it 
had always seemed to me that His disagreeable traits 
quite overshadowed His good ones. Such was the effect 
upon my childhood’s mind of the dogmas of Presbyteri- 
anism. It was while some such impressions as these 
were lurking in my heart that suddenly I heard a foot- 
step behind me in the dark room. It startled me with a 
strange sense of fear, and I had not the courage to turn 
and see what it might be. It approached my chair. It 
paused at my side. And then a low voice spoke my 
name. 

“ Miss Theo } ” 

I recognized the voice, but I did not answer. It was 
the great revulsion of feeling from fear to relief which 
now robbed me of speech. 

“Miss Theo.^ Your maiden meditation seems to be 
very interesting and absorbing,” he said. 

Then I slowly turned my head and looked up at him, 
without, however, removing my elbows from the window- 
sill, or my cheeks from my palms. The street-lamp 
shone full upon him, revealing to me the Rev. John 
Udell, one of our clerical guests. He was a rather fine- 
looking young minister, with a pale, intellectual face and 
a very grave countenance. All during the week I had 
noticed how exceedingly observant of us all he had been. 
Nothing seemed to escape his scrutiny. It probably had 


66 


THEO WADDINGTON 


not taken him very long to discover what was the power 
which dominated our remarkably well-regulated household. 

He himself was at the same time being watched by a 
pair of big eyes scarcely less observant than his own. 
The man fascinated me rather unpleasantly. There was 
at times a hard, steely expression in his face which made 
one feel that under some circumstances he might be 
capable of absolute cruelty. The set of his lower jaw 
suggested a cold-blooded determination from which I 
imagined a victim at his mercy would have found no 
appeal. When he spoke there was a quiet decision in his 
manner which at once commanded respectful attention. 

One day he addressea the Synod both morning and 
evening, and his speeches were praised on all sides as 
showing remarkable ability in so young a man. 

I thought you had gone to church with the rest, Mr. 
Udell,” I remarked. 

He leaned against the window-frame and folded his 
arms across his chest. ' ' 

“Why did you not go to church V' he asked. 

In everything which this man did, in every tone of his ^ 
voice and expression of his face, the great contrast of his ' 
nature to that of my father was suggested to me. Papa 
was warm-hearted, impulsive, emotional ; Mr. Udell was 
cold, quiet, obstinate. There was something about him i 
which aroused in me a feeling of antagonism and rebell- { 
ion — a feeling which, of course, politeness forbade my 
displaying. 5 

“Papa would not allow me to go out this evening 
because I have a cold,” I replied to his question. “Mr. | 
Udell,” I abruptly added; “how long have you been in I 
this room?” j 


THEO WADDINGTON 


67 


“For quite a while.” 

“Did you — were you — did you hear Joe and me talk- 
ing together before he went to church?” I anxiously 
asked. 

“Yes.” 

This intelligence was by no means agreeable to me. I 
turned my face to the window again and thoughtfully 
contemplated the street lamp. After a moment, I 
said — 

“I told Joe I heard some one in the room; but he 
thought it was only one of my fancies. Fm afraid,” I 
added, with a deep sigh, “ I shall have to give up sitting 
and talking in the dark — it’s something of a risk.” 

“I suppose I ought to express regret at having intruded 
upon you, my little friend ; but I can’t do so, truthfully. 
I’m very glad to have heard some of your remarks this 
evening.” 

“And do you think me odd?” I asked, very gravely. 
“ Nearly every one does.” 

“You are different from most little girls of your age; 
that may be, however, because you have been brought up 
differently.” 

“But no one calls Amy and Lila odd, except, perhaps, 
Alice Canfield.” 

“Do you dislike being considered peculiar?” he asked. 

“It is rather trying, sometimes.” 

“Some people think it a sign of originality,” he said. 

“Do they? I never thought of that,” I answered, 
rather hopefully. “ Originality means cleverness, doesn’t 
it ? ” 

“Well — yes,” a little hesitatingly. 

“I am very anxious to be clever,” I said, candidly. 


08 


THEO WADDINGTON 


**What constitutes a clever person ? ” he inquired. 

*‘I am sure you know, Mr. Udell, without being told,” 

I replied, not liking to be quizzed. 

“But people’s ideas about it differ so much. Miss 
Theo. I should like to hear what yours are.” 

“ Every one must know that a clever person is one who 
has read a great many books and knows a great deal, and 
can think things out.” 

“ Think things out } ” he repeated, questioningly. 

“Yes; I do so wish I could think things out. Are 
you clever.? ” 

“ Do you think I am .? ” 

“Yes,” I said, a little doubtfully. 

“ But you think I quite need all the cleverness I’ve 
got, eh .? ” 

“Yes, indeed you do,” I answered gravely. “I should 
think a minister would require a great deal of brains.” 

“ Why .? That is not the conventional idea about them.” 

“ There are so many strange things in the Bible ; and 
of course a minister must be able to understand and ' 
explain them all.” 

“ For instance .? ” 

I looked thoughtfully out into the street for a few 
moments before I ventured to offer an instance. Then ’ 
finally, I said, speaking very deliberately — 

“The Bible says that light was created the first day, % 
and the sun, moon and stars on the fourth day. Then 5 
we must have had light and evenings and mornings | 
before we had any sun, moon and stars. I think it would 
take a great deal of cleverness to be able to explain how t 
that could be, don’t you.?” « 

“Yes,” he acquiesced. S 


THEO WADDINGTON 69 

*‘Do you know how we could have had light on the 
‘earth without any sun ? ” 

** No ; I do not.” 

“Perhaps,” said I, in a low tone, moving a little nearer 
to him and speaking confidentially; “Perhaps” — I hes- 
itated and looked at him earnestly — “ Promise me, 
first, that you won’t tell papa what I’m going to tell 
you/* 

“I shall not repeat it.” 

“Perhaps the Bible isn’t true.” 

I leaned my cheeks on my hands again, to wait until 
he should have recovered somewhat from the shock of 
this suggestion. To my surprise, however, he did not 
become at all excited. 

“What are some more of the puzzling problems you 
find in the Bible.**” he asked. 

Quite relieved to find him so easy to get on with, I at 
once replied — 

“ It tells us that fishes and birds were created on one 
day, and on the next day, reptiles and creeping things. 
But I read in a little book about Nature which Miss 
Appel loaned me, that reptiles preceded birds on the 
earth. And I learned from that book that men who 
study about Nature do not believe that the Bible is true. 
Please don’t tell papa I said so,” I added hastily. 

“Why do you wish him not to know it } ” 

“Those are some of my secret thoughts.” 

“Your secret thoughts.**” he repeated, inquiringly. 

“Yes; I dare not let papa know everything I think. 
He might not let me borrow any more books from Miss 
Appel. He would think they influenced me.” 

“So you, my little friend, are going to be a woman 


70 


THEO WADDINGTON 


with opinions of your own, are you ? Don’t do it A 
woman with opinions is a dangerous person.” 

“I’m sorry,” I said, a little sadly; “but I’m afraid I 
can’t help it.” 

He laughed a short, quiet laugh that had not the least 
mirth in it Then he drew out his watch and held it up 
toward the street-lamp, near the window. 

“ I wish I could stay here and talk with you,” he said ; 
“but I have an engagement which I am compelled to 
keep, and I must go at once.” 

“Are you going to church.?” I inquired, a little disap- 
pointed to have our interesting conversation come to an 
end. 

“No, I’m going across the street to see my friend Mr. 
Rushmore.” 

“Is Mr. Rushmore your friend.?” I quickly asked. 

“Yes. And now good-by, Miss Theo. I enjoy talking 
with you and hope you will let me see more of you before 
I go away.” 

“The pleasure is mutual,” I responded with grave 
politeness ; and I did not see why he should smile at so 
simple a remark as he turned away and walked out of the 


room. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


71 


CHAPTER VII 



HE Synod was over. The ministers had gone to 


i their homes. Once more we had settled down into 
the dull monotony which had been temporarily relieved 
by their presence in our town. 

It was a damp, cold evening in November, and I was 
sitting at the library table, trying to study my Latin, but 
feeling stupid and depressed from the reaction of the 
excitement of our week of irregularity. For even so 
slight a diversion as the convention of a ministerial body 
in our midst had not been without its harrowing effects 
upon us. At any rate I was too much of a dreamer to 
be very fond at any time of applying my energies to my 
text-books. If I had not been trained from infancy to 
curb my tendencies to self-indulgence, I should probably 
all my life have remained ignorant of many a school-book 
fact with which the conventional standard requires one to 
become acquainted. 

Finally I abandoned the vain attempt to fix my mind 
on my lessons, and leaning my elbow on the table, I 
threw my head back upon my hand, and gazing at nothing 
in particular, I gave myself up to the fancies which would 
keep intruding themselves between myself and my books. 

I do not know how long I had been sitting in this way, 
when at length the library door opened and my father 
came into the room. 


72 


THEO WADDINGTON 


He drew near to me and stood beside my chair, and I 
lifted my eyes and looked up into his face earnestly. 

“Well,” he said, as he laid his hand on my head and 
smoothed my hair, “what radical thoughts are disturbing 
this young brain now } ” 

“Papa!” I impulsively answered, without stopping to 
consider how my words might displease him, “ I have 
been thinking what a blessing it would be to human 
beings if it could be proven that the Bible is not to be 
relied on. Oh, papa I I wish it were not true I I wish ” — 

But I stopped short and suddenly grew confused as 
I became conscious of the grave disapproval in his 
face. 

He abruptly drew a chair to the table and seated him- 
self before me, leaning one arm on my pile of school- 
books, while with the other hand he clasped the lapel 
of his coat, a little habit he had whenever he was very 
specially determined. He crossed his knees and bent 
his eyes upon me with a look which seemed to pin me to 
the spot where I sat. 

“Now what do you mean by this nonsense, foolish 
child } Why do you wish the Bible were not true } ” 

“Papa, I am sorry I said so,” I replied, timidly; “I 
won’t talk so again. I did not mean it — yes, I — I did 
mean it,” I hastily added, feeling my face grow very 
warm, but unable to tell a falsehood. “ But I won’t say 
what I mean any more, papa.” 

His eyes twinkled a little as he heard this questionably 
virtuous promise, but he only said, very gravely — 

“ Answer my question, Theo. Why do you wish the 
Bible could be proven to be unreliable — a most extraor- 
dinary wish to fall from the lips of a child of mine I ” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


73 


He could not be resisted; I knew I must answer him 
at once. “Because, papa,” I said, in a low voice, “it 
would be such a comfort to know that those terrible 
words would never be spoken to any human being — 
‘Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire’. It was 
my thinking of that poor drunkard who was taken past 
our house by a policeman this afternoon, that made me 
wish our Bible were no more to be depended upon than 
the Koran. And oh, papa,” I added, suddenly waxing 
bolder, “I sometimes think that it isn’t.” 

“How so.?” he demanded, seeming to repress with an 
effort his feeling of displeasure toward me. And now 
with my usual philosophic acceptance of a case, I decided 
that as I was, without doubt, already destined to receive 
a sharp reprimand, I might as well proceed and speak 
forth my mind. There was also a hope in my heart that 
papa would aid me to solve the difficulty which I was 
about to propound to him. 

“Many things in it seem so improbable, papa. For 
instance, my Geography says that the land in Mesopota- 
mia slopes directly to the sea. Then how could there 
have been a great flood there .? Water seeks its lowest 
level and can’t be piled up like sand. There couldn’t 
have been a flood in Mesopotamia. And as for the 
Flood having been over the whole earth, even many min- 
isters say that , that could not possibly have happened. 
Won’t you please tell me, papa, how you think it 
was.?” 

“I do not know how it was,” he said with decision. 
“ I only know it was ! For the Bible says so, and that’s 
enough for me. I take God at his word. I am willing 
to trust Him implicitly. To Him, all things are possible. 


74 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Our funny intellects cannot, of course, comprehend Infin- 
ity. The mysteries of our religion only prove it to be of 
a superhuman origin.” 

In this strain (perfectly familiar to most of us) he 
talked to me for a long time that night. The expected 
reproof was not administered ; but instead of it, he spoke 
to me gently and patiently of the beauty of child-like 
trust, unselfish labor for the Master, Christian purity of 
heart and integrity of soul. He held up to me the 
Divine side of Christ’s character, the loving, pitying Sav- 
iour, the great and wise Teacher, the Infinite Martyr for 
human transgression; until upon the black back-ground 
of the world’s dark past, that mysterious, luminous spot 
seemed to shine forth with a celestial glory. Ah, my 
father could be eloquent! He spoke of the Christian 
work which was civilizing the world, of the homeless 
orphans who were cherished, of the poverty which was 
fed and clothed, of the sickness which was tenderly cared 
for in Christian hospitals and asylums, of the heathens 
who were taught, and of the schools and colleges which 
were established in the name and through the influence 
of the religion of Jesus. 

He had never spoken more forcibly from the pulpit 
than he spoke that evening to his erring daughter. He 
was terribly in earnest, for he felt that I was in danger — 
in the most fearful of all dangers — and he was deter- 
mined to save me in time. I was deeply impressed by all 
that he said to me. His earnestness and eloquence car- 
ried me along with them so completely that I quite 
failed to note the illogical and inconsistent points by the 
way. A new revelation of the power and beauty of 
Christianity seemed to be made to me in his words. I 


THEO WADDINGTON 


75 


saw new and wonderful meaning in much that hitherto 
had seemed dark and inexplicable. 

That night marked an epoch in my life. I can date 
from that time the gradual schooling of my mind against 
all forms of doubting, and the adjustment of my whole 
nature to the unquestioning acceptance of my father’s 
creed. 

An adverse influence to this result was probably 
removed in the departure of Mr. Rushmore from our 
town. His young ambition disgusted with the narrow 
resources of York, he threw up the advantages of his 
uncle’s patronage and returned to the more difficult but 
wider arena of New York City. 

When many years afterward I saw him again, I was a 
woman grown, and he a man of sober maturity. And he 
had almost forgotten then, the prim little neighbor who 
had interested him in his student days in York. 

Perhaps it was well for me that he did go away at that 
time. The affections of an imaginative young girl are 
very susceptible at that age when she is just budding into 
womanhood, with all its rich possibilities, its hungry rest- 
lessness, its longing after unattainable ideals, its new- 
born wonder at the meaning of life. 

As it was, my awakening nature bent every newly- 

veloped energy and emotion to the satisfying of my 
father’s expectations for me, and to the crushing out 
from my mind and heart, every heretical tendency. 







PART II 


“VANITY OF VANITIES” 


“ She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; 

And all that’s best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; 

Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.” 

— Byron. 


77 


THEO WADDINGTON 


70 


CHAPTER I 

I N the dimly-lighted reception room of a palatial resi- 
dence on Fifth Avenue in New York City, a young 
man was slowly pacing back and forth across the rich, 
Turkish rug which covered the floor, his eyes looking 
downward, one hand thrust between the buttons of his 
coat and the other clenched behind his back. His move- 
ments, although measured and slow, had in them a pecul- 
iar, nervous strength ; and the mere attitudes of his 
hands, as well as the stern expression of his thoughtful 
face, revealed an energy and a force of character which 
involuntarily commanded a certain sort of respect. 

He wore his hair in a style which gave him rather an 
eccentric appearance. It was longer than the conven- 
tional mode allowed, and was combed straight back from 
a strikingly high, broad forehead. His face was clean- 
shaven and his features were sharp-cut and refined. The 
eyes that shown out from under the prominent brow were 
large and remarkably luminous. 

His black silk tie was joined by a knot at his throat, 
the ends flying loose over his broad chest. Although his 
clothes were of the finest quality and immaculately clean, 
they had about them an air of neglige which showed but 
little thought had been given to them by their wearer. 

There was an expression of cynicism about his mouth 
and occasionally when his face was not sternly thoughtful. 


80 


THEO WADDINGTON 


a mournfulness in his black eyes which suggested that 
the heart of this man had learned some of life’s lessons 
through deep experiences. 

He was not handsome, but his finely proportioned 
figure quite compensated for his faulty features. In the 
eyes of most women, the ambitious young lawyer, Horace 
Rushmore, was more than interesting — he was fascinat- 
ing. Strength of will, of intellect and of body, combined 
with a slight imperiousness of manner, a sarcastic style of 
speech, and an utter disregard of conventionalities when 
it did not suit his purpose to observe them, made him, on 
the whole, a formidable but most interesting and charm- 
ing object to those favored ladies whose fashionable, 
social festivities he occasionally condescended to honor. 

No one who came in contact with this young man 
ever escaped his penetrating scrutiny ; and his feminine 
acquaintances seldom wished to escape it even though 
the result of his examination of them might be the utter- 
ance of some of those keen, sharp remarks upon the foi- 
bles and weaknesses of human nature for which he was 
famed and feared, not only among the oldest and ablest 
of his fellow attorneys at the bar, but in his social circle 
as well. There was something about him which made 
the generality of people who encountered him (especially 
the women) eager to win his approbation, a thing which 
he very seldom yielded. The difficulty of obtaining it, 
however, was probably one of the chief reasons for its 
being so eagerly sought. The room in which the young 
man paced back and forth displayed in all of its appoint- 
ments the fabulous wealth and luxury of this Fifth 
Avenue mansion. The walls and ceilings were elabo- 
rately frescoed. The windows were richly curtained with 


THEO WADDINGTON 


81 


maroon silk and real lace hangings. The chairs and 
divans about the room were of rare and varied patterns. 
The huge open grate was built of the costliest panels. 
The paintings, etchings and engravings on the walls were 
valuable gems of art, while the ornaments of bronze, the 
statuary and basins of marble about the room lent to 
the whole apartment an appearance of almost regal 
magnificence. 

Horace Rushmore’s pacing to and fro was suddenly 
arrested by the rustle of a silk gown. He stopped 
abruptly as he heard it and threw himself into an arm- 
chair. 

In a moment a woman entered the room. She was 
about thirty years of age, and would have been very fine- 
looking had she been a little less corpulent. She was 
beautifully dressed in a rich tea gown of black surah silk, 
en train. She looked to be just what she was — a woman 
surfeited with the so-called good things of life, a true 
daughter of the world of vanities. 

Very gracefully she stepped across the room to greet 
her visitor, extending to him a plump, white, bejewelled 
hand, as he rose to meet her. 

“This is such a pleasure, Mr. Rushmore! To what am 
I indebted for the honor 

He placed a chair for her and they both sat down 
before he replied. 

“ I saw by the papers that you had returned,” he said 
in the quick, abrupt manner habitual to him. “And as I 
was compelled to come here this afternoon to bring a doc- 
ument for your husband, I thought T would ask for you 
and welcome you back. I am tired, and I thought a chat 
with you might rest me,” 


82 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Ah, I can see by looking at you that you are in sad 
need of rest. During my absence I have constantly read 
of your brilliant speeches in the Willey trial. You are 
making yourself famous, Mr. Rushmore. You are” — 

“Talk of something interesting, do,” he interrupted, a 
trifle coldly; “something restful and diverting. Where 
have you been all this time You look brighter than 
when you left.” 

“That is because I have brought something back with 
me which actually interests me as I have not been inter- 
ested in many years',” she replied. 

“ I did not know there was anything left in the world 
to interest you. I thought you had exhausted every 
means of sincere enjoyment. Pray, tell me what it is 
you have discovered.” 

“A country cousin. And I have brought it home with 
me.” 

“Is it male or female.!^” 

“Female. I have been to one of the smaller cities in 
South-eastern Pennsylvania, about one hundred miles 
from Philadelphia. Here I discovered some relatives of 
mine whom I had not heard from for several years. 
One’s uncles, cousins and aunts are always popping in 
upon one unawares. This discovery was a fortunate acci- 
dent, I thought, for I found them to be very diverting 
and amusing people — so unworldly and unsophisticated — 
utterly different from any one I have ever known. The 
South-eastern Pennsylvanians are so amusing in many 
respects.” 

“Yes, I know it. Eight years ago I went to a town 
in that country, to study law in the office of my uncle, 
Judge Canfield. But a few months of the place were all 


THEO WADDINGTON 


83 


I could endure. My life was absolutely so monotonous 
that in a short time I grew quite morbid, and in want of 
other diversion I came very near falling in love with a 
little Presbyterian maiden about thirteen years of age. 
Before that catastrophe, however, had befallen me, I had 
fortunately grown disgusted with the town and had come 
back to New York. I have never been in Pennsylvania 
since that time.” 

“You must make the acquaintance of my Pennsylva- 
nian. She is a novel specimen. A young lady twenty- 
two years of age, possessed of views on religion, a stiff- 
necked Presbyterian of the old school.” 

Rushmore looked surprised as he asked with some curi- 
osity, “ What possessed you to bring that sort of a person 
here .? ” 

“ Oh, she is vastly interesting to me ! She is so abso- 
lutely unsophisticated that I thought I should enjoy 
letting her innocent eyes behold a little New York world- 
liness. She has always lived in the one town, and has 
never seen any society except her father’s church. He 
is a Presbyterian minister and has reared his family in a 
strictly Orthodox manner. She is his youngest daughter, 
and oh, so odd ! ” 

“The prudish daughter of a Presbyterian minister in a 
small Pennsylvania city } ” he repeated,, with a little sar- 
castic laugh. “ I don’t enjoy specimens of that sort. 
Pray spare me an introduction, Mrs. Graybill.” 

“ How impolitely candid you are,” she said reproach- 
fully; “but then you are always that. Remember, how- 
ever, the ‘specimen’ is my cousin, and she is not 
uninteresting. I thoroughly enjoy her, because she is 
not conventional ; and then she is so absurdly earnest and 


84 


THEO WADDINGTON 


honest. It is positively refreshing, Mr. Rush more, to 
meet an unconventional, sincere young woman. Of 
course, she has not the least style ; she possesses not a 
single gown that I will allow her to wear ; but then she is 
a very fine-looking girl, and I can easily give her some 
style. Only she is so extremely puritanical that she 
thinks very fine clothing is almost wicked. You would 
have been so amused last night,” she added, with a gay 
little laugh, “if you could have overheard a little conver- 
sation which passed between us. It showed me that she 
is, already, after only two days in my house, deeply 
impressed with the worldly vanity of my life, just as I 
intended she should be,” and again Mrs. Graybill threw 
back her pretty head and laughed the quiet, mirthless 
ripple peculiar to blase women of society. 

“ As we were sitting alone in my dressing-room,” she 
went on, “she turned to me suddenly and asked, in a 
low, grave voice, and with a most profoundly serious face, 
*Have you ever given your heart to Christ } ’ I burst out 
laughing and laughed so immoderately that I think my 
mirth was infectious even to that serious creature. * I 
did not mean to be amusing when I asked the question,’ 
she said, very quietly. She rarely smiles, she is too 
puritanical for that. She will be so shocked when 
she has become initiated in some of the goings-on 
here.” 

“I should think so,” Rushmore said, indifferently. 

“How I shall enjoy the first dinner-party she witnesses 
in this house. She is, you know, one of those Presbyte- 
rians who never speak of Sunday, but always of the 
‘Sabbath’. You will come to our dinner-party next Sun- 
day?” she asked. “I know how very busy you are now 


THEO WADD/NGTON 


85 


that you have become such a famous lawyer ; but you 
don’t have to work on Sunday, do you?” 

‘‘Yes, frequently. But I rather like your dinner-par- 
ties ; I am sure I don’t know why I do, they are very 
absurd affairs. But they are less intolerable than any 
others that I find time to attend. So I’ll come next Sun- 
day on one condition.” 

“ What is that, rude man ? ” 

“You must promise to keep off the country cousin. 
Don’t let her fix herself on me.” 

“You conceited wretch!” and she laughed again. 
“ Indeed, I shall promise nothing of the sort. She must 
know you ; you are one of New York’s special interests 
just now, and I have brought her here to see the sights 
and to educate her unsophisticated mind. She has seen 
your name in the papers, in connection with the Willey 
case and also as proposed for governor. In fact, I count 
on your aid in getting the girl entirely over her religious 
bigotry. We must make an agnostic of her. It is quite 
the thing to be an agnostic just now; even more correct, 
I believe, than to be an Episcopalian. She is a clever 
girl. You must argue her out of her Presbyterianism. I 
am sure with your persuasive genius, you could accom- 
plish almost anything.” 

“ Easier to do that, I can assure you, than to upset the 
faith of a bigoted Calvinist,” he said, carelessly. “Only 
broad-minded people can ever overcome the religious 
training of their childhood, and few women are broad- 
minded. I really think I shan’t come around here 
often,” he suddenly added, “while you have this new 
plaything with you. You will soon tire of her and send 
her home.” 


86 


THEO WADDINGTON 


** No, I shall keep her as long as she will stay. And 
you will come on Sunday, won’t you, now, Mr. Rush- 
more.^ Listen to what I tell you — Mr. Graybill’s poli- 
tics are very uncertain and I promise he will use his 
influence for you in the convention if you will come next 
Sunday. There, now, do you accept the bribe ? ” 

“ I usually, on general principles, disapprove of bribes, 
but this does seem to be rather an exceptional case.” 

“I may expect you, then, next Sunday.^” she asked. 

“ I suppose so.” 

Will you bring Isabel with you ? ” 

“ If she will come,” he said curtly and a little coldly. 

“ How is she ? ” Mrs. Graybill inquired, politely con- 
cealing the curiosity aroused in her mind by the slight 
change in his manner. 

'‘About as usual, thank you.” 

“ And Lucy ? ” 

The coldness melted from his countenance and an 
unexpected softness played about the stern lips and in 
his black eyes. 

“ Lucy is growing stronger, although she is still quite 
weak,” he said. 

“A very interesting child,” Mrs. Graybill remarked, 
drawing a rose from her bosom and holding it to her nose. 

“Yes, and a very precious one,” he added, with a rare 
tenderness in his voice. Few persons ever heard him 
speak in that tone. 

“Did Isabel go out while I was away?” 

“ Constantly,” he briefly replied. 

“And yourself ? ” 

“Occasionally — with Isabel. I haven’t time to fre- 
quent Vanity Fair very much. When I do go, it is only 


THEO WADDINGTON 


87 


to indulge Isabel. I mean soon to forswear entirely the 
abominable farce of pretending to enjoy myself when I 
really do not.” 

“I never saw you pretend to enjoy yourself,” she gaily 
protested. “At every gathering at which I have seen 
you, you have passed through the entire evening with 
the most impolitely candid expression of countenance 
imaginable — cynical, bored, misanthropical — adjectives 
fail me ! It is a pity you can’t think better of your 
fellow-men, Mr. Rushmore.” 

“Mrs. Graybill,” he said, suddenly speaking with earn- 
estness, “why do you keep up the sham.? You know 
you despise it all. I look about me sometimes when I 
am at an evening party, and sincerely wonder what is the 
compensation which people think they get for laboring so 
hard to try to make an utterly artificial state of things 
appear real and natural. Can you tell me the secret of 
it.?” 

Mrs. Graybill answered him cheerfully. 

“The whole of life is a sham, for that matter, Mr. 
Rushmore. We must be occupied with something, then 
why with one thing more than another.? It is all a 
farce.” 

“True,” he said, lapsing into his usual manner of care- 
less indifference. He leaned his head back against the 
cushion of his chair and thrust his hands between the 
buttons of his coat. “We plunge into labor — it may be 
politics, studies, social gayeties, business — we work very 
hard and coax ourselves thereby into the delusion that we 
are living; that we are traveling on toward some desir- 
able goal. We have only occasional moments when we 
realize the falsity, the pretense of it all ; when we see 


88 


THRO VVADD/NGTON 


that we and our lives are shams, and know that our daily 
walk and conversation are altogether artificial.” 

“Oh, well,” she said playfully, “of course we know 
that everything is wrong and ought to be fixed; but 
pray, Mr. Rushmore, don’t lament that the ‘insight’ of 
which you speak is only occasional. Better far if it 
never came to us, since we can’t very well mend the mat- 
ter. We all know that there is nothing in life really 
worth living for, but what can we do about it ?” 

“ Is there nothing at all crushing to you in the convic- 
tion that life has in it nothing really great.?” he asked. 

“The noblest, truest thing I know just at present,” 
she said, with a show of gravity, “is Theo. Really that 
girl’s mind and character are quite staggering to some of 
my amiable, cynical theories.” 

“Whom do you mean by Theo.?” 

“It. The country cousin.” 

“Oh!” 

Mrs. Graybill laughed again. 

“I wonder what Theo will think of you when she gets 
to know you. I want you to be very rash and very unus- 
ual when she is present I ” 

“She won’t get to know me at all, Mrs. Graybill. I 
shall strenuously avoid a very close acquaintance with 
your bigoted puritanical young relative. She is not to 
my taste.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


80 


‘CHAPTER II 

I T was Sunday afternoon and Theo Waddington was 
standing before the long mirror in her luxuriously- 
furnished bed-chamber, putting the finishing touches to 
her toilet before going down into the drawing-room to 
meet her cousin's guests. Upon first being told of the 
proposed dinner-party she had resolutely refused to vio- 
late “the Sabbath’* by being present; but Mrs. Graybill 
had succeeded in overcoming her scruples by assuring 
her that the term “ dinner-party ” as applied to the cus- 
tomary informal Sunday gathering at the house of a few 
of her intimate friends was really a misnomer. 

“And then too, my dear,” she had said, “you must not 
expect that in a great city like New York you will find 
things just as they are in a small and conservative town 
like York. You must be prepared for surprises. Do not 
be so narrow-minded as to decide that whatever is new to 
you must necessarily be wicked. Nothing so broadening, 
dear, as to travel about the world a little, and see how 
other people live. And nothing so narrowing as to 
refuse to step out of your own small world and contem- 
plate the world at large.” 

Theo had looked thoughtful over her cousin’s words 
and had finally yielded up her objections to countenanc- 
ing the Sabbath-day breaking festivities and had promised 
to join the company. When the hour of preparation 


90 


THEO WADDINGTON 


arrived, however, Mrs. Graybill encountered another and 
more unconquerable prejudice in her young relative. 
Theo had refused with a quiet decision, from which there 
was no appeal, to wear the light, gay gown which her 
cousin had provided for her. 

“I shall come down into the parlor and meet your 
guests and contemplate your mode of life, as you advise 
me to,” she had said. “But I refuse to deck myself out 
on the Sabbath, as though I were going to a ball. I shall 
wear the plain, black dress which I wore to church this 
morning.” 

Mrs. GraybilFs protestations had been all in vain. 
Theo would not even consent to have the neck of her 
plain gown turned low, or to wear a bunch of flowers in 
her bosom. 

So now, as she stood alone in her room, before the 
long mirror, taking a last hasty glance at herself before 
going down stairs, she smiled slightly at the thought of 
the contrast which her appearance would be to that of 
her handsomely dressed cousin Violet and of the other 
ladies present. Then, all at once, a faint color came 
to her cheek. A long forgotten memory had come sud- 
denly into her thoughts. Within the past few days a 
certain name frequently on her cousin’s lips had been 
resurrecting many such memories in her mind. 

“Mr. Rushmore once told me,” she said to herself, 
“that I should grow up to be a large woman. He was 
right — I am big.” 

She looked at herself with a new interest. The pic- 
ture she saw would have made a weaker character quite 
silly with vanity. She was as unconscious of her beauty 
as she was innocent of the power which that gift of 


THEO WADDINGTON 


91 


nature gives to every woman. However, as in imagina- 
tion she contrasted the finely-developed figure before her 
with the prim little girl he once knew, she smiled again 
as she thought of the surprise he would feel when he 
should see her. 

Then she turned away from the mirror, and sinking 
back lazily into a chair at her side, she leaned her elbows 
on the window-sill near which she had been standing. 
Recollections whose fascinations could not be resisted 
crowded upon her mind, demanding attention. So, in 
the old childish attitude, she rested her cheek on her 
palm while her drowsy brown eyes looked dreamily out 
into the street as she let her fancies have unbridled 
sway. 

She recalled as distinctly as though she had read it 
yesterday that letter she had found years before between 
the pages of *‘Jane Eyre”. She laughed softly as she 
thought of its descriptions of herself and other members 
of the Waddington family. Then she wondered what 
strange instinct had restrained her, every time her cousin 
had mentioned Mr. Rushmore’s name, from telling of 
their acquaintance eight years ago. How astonished her 
Cousin Violet would be to-day, she thought, to find that 
her hero of ambition, talent, energy and rising fame was 
an old friend of her unsophisticated prot^g^. (For Theo 
had a truer conception of the light in which Mrs. Gray- 
bill regarded her than that wise woman of the world had 
ever dreamed of.) She asked herself, would Mr. Rush- 
more seem as much changed to her as she must necessa- 
rily appear to him. His image was so clear in her mind. 
Her life had not been so full of events that the little 
episode of her acquaintance with the young law student 


92 


THEO WADDINGTON 


should have been displaced by other and more absorbing 
incidents. 

But was it not quite possible, she thought, that he in 
his busy life, so full of labor, study and realized ambi- 
tions, should have entirely forgotten the child who, eight 
years ago, had for a short time been an object of some 
interest to him ? 

Meanwhile, as she sat dreaming in the window, the 
guests were fast gathering in the rooms below, and Mrs. 
Graybill was beginning to wonder if her odd young cousin 
had reconsidered her promise to be present at the Sab- 
bath-breaking dinner-party, and had decided, after all, that 
duty required her to remain up stairs. 

The company was scattered in groups about the room, 
some of them discussing a pile of etchings on a table in a 
corner, some examining the music spread open on the 
piano, a few of them talking over the periodicals lying on 
a small book-rack, and yet others drawing out the card- 
tables to get ready for a game of whist. There were 
more gentlemen than ladies present ; all were handsomely 
dressed, and their appearance and manners stamped them 
at once as having been educated well in the school of 
fashionable society. Conversation did not flag. Every- 
one was animated, apparently being thoroughly interested 
in their own and others’ chat. 

“ I am in despair,” Mrs. Graybill said to Rushmore, 
who had come to her side after extricating himself from 
a group of effusive women. “ I am afraid, after all, that ' 
Theo has decided not to come down.” " 

‘‘Theo.^ What’s that.^ Oh, yes, I remember. The j 
cousin.” 

“I can’t leave the room or I should try to bring her.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


93 


‘‘Don’t send me on any such commission for you.” 

“ Rude, horrid creature ! Of course I shall not. I 
left her in her room dressing, and she should have fin- 
ished before this. Do you know she absolutely refused 
to put on the dinner-gown I bought for her, but insisted 
that if she came down to the drawing-room at all, she 
would wear her plain, black street-gown which she wore 
to church this morning.” 

Rushmore looked profoundly indifferent. 

“I don’t believe you are in a good humor to-day,” Mrs. 
Graybill declared; “are you.^” 

“I never am in a good humor except”-^ he turned his 
black eyes full upon her face — “except when I am alone 
with Lucy.” 

He spoke so earnestly that Mrs. Graybill, who was 
rarely ever in earnest and never very serious, felt and 
appeared slightly uncomfortable. 

“It is perfectly lovely of you to be so fond of that 
child. I think your love for her is the one thing that 
keeps you from becoming quite embittered. Here comes 
Mr. Colwell,” she suddenly exclaimed. “Excuse me, 
please, while I go and speak to him.” 

She moved away and Rushmore left to himself, amused 
his cynical fancy by lazily watching the sensation which 
the arrival of Mr. Colwell caused to spread through the 
drawing-room. The reception accorded to this new arri- 
val by Mrs. Graybill and all her guests would have 
appeared to an uninitiated observer a matter of some 
wonder. 

Mr. Archibald Colwell was the son of one of the 
wealthiest men in New York. He paid seven dollars per 
pound for his tea. He ate new potatoes and fresh hot- 


94 


THEO WADDINGTON 


house vegetables all winter long. He spent his entire 
mornings in polishing and pointing his finger-nails. He 
sang tenor, painted in water colors, read the Ladies 
Ho7ne Journal and the New York Fashion Bazaar ; he pat- 
ronized art and artists, danced most gracefully, dressed 
exquisitely, brushed his hair in an incomparable fashion, 
and embroidered with rare imported floss. He led all 
the most fashionable germans, and was in great demand 
in the gay circles of New York. He traveled abroad 
every summer, and spoke with a marked London accent. 
He had, in his wanderings, picked up much stray infor- 
mation which he used to advantage. His wealth was 
fabulous, and there was not a society woman in New 
York who would have been so mad as to have refused his 
hand had it been offered her. Thus far in his career, 
however, he had remained entirely heart-whole. His 
ambition in life seemed to be to have nice finger-nails, 
and his chief occupation was the care of his hands. 

Every woman in Mrs. Gray bill’s parlors became 
intensely self-conscious upon the entrance of this exqui- 
site young man. He was greeted with effusion by every 
lady who could get access to him, and he was met with 
the most marked respect by all the gentlemen, with the 
exception, perhaps, of Horace Rushmore, who was 
regarded, even by his admirers, as eccentric and cynical. 

So in the midst of the elaborate greeting extended to 
the young nabob, Rushmore, standing alone and a little 
apart, suddenly saw what Mrs. Graybill and most others 
in the room failed to notice — the entrance of a young 
woman — one whom he had never seen before; or at 
least, so he thought, in the first moment his eyes rested , 
upon her. He had a habit of searching every new face 


THEO WADDINGTON 


95 


which he met, perhaps with the same vague wish with 
which one looks into the work of a new author — the 
half-unconscious hope of finding here the solution of the 
eternal problem, the ever-present question in every aspir- 
ing soul ; or of discovering in the spirit revealed to one’s 
own, that complement which one’s imperfect nature rest- 
lessly craves forever. 

The young lady entered the door-way, paused a 
moment, and then walked slowly into the room. She 
was tall and so beautifully formed, that Rushmore’s eyes 
rested fascinated upon her figure for a moment before 
they glanced at her face. There was an unconscious 
majesty in her movements, and when presently he looked 
at her face, its cold, serious expression seemed almost at 
variance with the seductive womanliness of her form. 
The charm of her face consisted not so much in its shape 
or coloring as in its delicacy and refinement, for she was 
very pale. She had no dimples, her hair just escaped 
being quite straight, and she wore no bang. Her attract- 
iveness was more spiritual than physical. 

Could this creature be the puritanical cousin.^ he won- 
dered. Yes, it must be so; for there was the plain, 
old-fashioned, black gown, of which Mrs. Graybill had 
[ spoken, the ungloved hands, the plainly-dressed hair and 
the profoundly serious countenance, all of which could 
I not possibly belong to anyone else. What a queenly 
woman she was ! And what a striking face she had ! 
There was something positively eerie in the spirituality of 
j that countenance. Yet it did not take a very keen eye, 

I he thought, to detect the puritanical character in her 
i cold, reserved expression. While these thoughts passed 
I quickly through his mind Theo had walked some little 


THEO WADDINGTON 


96 

distance into the room, without having attracted the 
attention of anyone else; and now she paused again 
beside a large bronze vase which stood against the wall, 
and let her eyes rove about the room in search of her 
cousin. Almost immediately they were caught and held 
by a tall, dark man at the opposite end of the parlor. 
His commanding figure made nearly all of the other occu- 
pants of the room appear insignificant. He was standing 
in his favorite attitude, one foot a little in front of him, 
his head slightly thrown back and his right arm behind 
him. 

Only for an instant did she meet his eye. He was 
coolly staring at her in a way that made the color come 
to her cheeks, as she hastily looked away from him, for 
she saw there was no sign of recognition in his face. 

Rushmore noticed, with a passing curiosity, the start 
and flush with which she seemed to recognize him ; and 
in that moment it suddenly struck him that there was 
something familiar in her face. He searched his mem- 
ory to find out where he had ever seen her before ; but 
he could find no clew whatever to explain the impression. 

He idly watched her, as Mrs. Graybill, catching sight 
of her, went to her side and led her forward to be intro- 
duced. They made the circuit of the room, pausing for a 
moment to chat with each group or pair which they 
approached, the hostess covering with her fine tact her 
protege s absolute lack of graceful, conventional chit-chat. 
Every one was looking at the stranger now — the ladies 
with politely concealed curiosity and astonishment on 
account of the inconsistency of such an unsuitable gown 
on so handsome a woman; the gentlemen with undis- 
guised interest and admiration. She was creating just 


THEO WADDINGTON 


97 


the sort of a sensation her cousin had intended she 
should create. In fact, Mrs. Graybill was now rather 
pleased, than otherwise, that Theo had kept on her plain 
gown. If it was not becoming to her, its oddity only 
made her the more interesting. As for the unconven- 
tional silence which she maintained, when introduced to 
people, it had not at all the appearance of awkward 
embarrassment, but seemed like the eccentricity of 
superiority. 

Rushmore continued to stare at her coldly as they 
approached the corner where he stood. 

“Why will you withdraw yourself in this unsocial fash- 
ion Mrs. Graybill demanded of him in playful admoni- 
tion as she reached his side. “ Let me introduce you to 
my cousin. Miss Waddington. Theo, this is Mr. Rush- 
more of whom I have been telling you.” 

Theo, who thought he must surely recognize her, now 
that he had heard her name, frankly put out her hand as 
she raised her eyes to his face. But though he was look- 
ing at her keenly, his cold glance had still no sign of 
recognition in it as he pressed the offered hand for an 
instant, in his strong grasp. 

The little pang of disappointment which she experi- 
enced was not occasioned alone by his failure to recall 
their former slight acquaintance which to her had meant 
so much ; but something in the expression of his face 
revealed to her at once that this dark, stern countenance, 
with its cynical mouth, its cool, almost impudent stare, 
was not the generous, genial face, full of hope and tender- 
ness to which her childhood’s soul had been so strongly 
drawn. Her old friend had changed. She felt that he 
was almost as much a stranger to her as she was to him, 


98 


THEO WADDINGTON 


'‘You have not told me, Mr. Rushmore, why Isabel did 
not come with you this afternoon,” Mrs. Graybill said. 

"No, I have not told you, because I don’t know.” 

" How very odd ! Well, then, at least, she is not ill, is 
she.?” 

" I don’t know.” 

"Why, how heartless of you. Poor Isabel, I pity her.” 

"You and Isabel would agree beautifully. She pities 
herself, very much.” 

"You are perfectly inexplicable, Mr. Rushmore. Isn’t 
he, Theo .? ” 

"How can I say. Cousin Violet,” Theo said, seriously, 
"when I don’t know what you are talking of.? ” 

"As I have told you before, my dear, it is not neces- 
sary that you should mean everything you say. In reply 
to my question you should say enthusiastically, ‘ Oh, per- 
fectly ! ’ or ' Quite shockingly ! ’ or something of that sort. 
You must learn, dear, not to take one’s remarks so seri- 
ously ; must she not, Mr. Rushmore .? ” 

"It is too late to begin her education now, Mrs. Gray- 
bill. Your cousin has been well trained to consider twice 
before she speaks, and the lessons of youth are not easily 
forgotten. Will you be my partner .? ” he abruptly added, 
motioning toward a table. 

" Oh, of course, you and I must play together. Theo, 
you must take a hand with Mr. Graybill. Do you play 
whist well.?” 

"Cards, Cousin Violet! ” Theo repeated in a low, start- 
led voice, her brown eyes opening wide with horror, "and 
on the Sabbath day .? ” 

Mrs. Graybill turned to Rushmore and said laughingly, 
"What did I tell you.? Isn’t she diverting.?” 


THEO WADDJNGTON 


90 


You seem to find her so?” he remarked, listlessly. 

“In New York, my dear, it isn’t regarded sinful to 
play cards on Sunday, so you need have no scruples at 
all. Come, Mr. Graybill has the tables all ready for us.” 

“You expect me to play with gambling cards?” Theo 
coldly asked. “And on the Sabbath day?” 

“Nonsense, dear! No\y don’t be prudish; if you 
don’t understand the game, your Cousin Graybill will 
show you. I have told him he must play with you this 
afternoon, and you know how obedient he always is. 
The most exemplary husband ! ” she declared, by way of 
explanation to Rushmore. 

“Cousin Graybill will have to find another partner,” 
Theo said. 

“But, Theo, you will break up a whole set if you per- 
sist in your obstinacy, my dear. There are just exactly 
five sets of us. Mr. Rushmore, do use your persuasive 
powers upon my cousin. You can convince juries by 
your eloquence, surely you ought to be able to convince 
Miss Waddington.” 

“I may be able to persuade juries, but to convince a 
woman against her will the eloquence of Mercury himself 
would not avail. And a woman, too, possessed of opin- 
ions about the observance of the Sabbath! My most 
persuasive words would, I am sure, be wasted on your 
cousin.” 

“ I was under the impression that women’s views 
usually melted under your convincing eloquence like 
snow in the sun,” Mrs. Graybill said. “Do you never 
argue Isabel into changing her mind ? ” 

“When I want to convince Isabel that two and two 
make four, I usually contend with all my powers of argu- 


100 


THEO WADDINGTON 


ment that they make five. She is always sure to be con- 
vinced of that against which I argue. Well, let me see 
what I can do with Miss Waddington. What are your 
objections, Miss Waddington, to a game of cards on 
Sunday.^” 

The simplicity of Theo’s heart prevented her from see- 
ing that he was chaffing her. 

'‘'Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy,’” she 
replied, gravely. 

“Do you interpret that command literally.?” 

“I prefer not to speak of these things with you, Mr. 
Rushmore. I know that Cousin Violet and her friends 
do not feel and think as I do, and discussion would be 
worse than useless.” 

“ How am I to obey my hostess and convince you if 
you will not listen to me.? No doubt you interpret the 
'days’ of the Genesis story of the creation to mean geo- 
logic periods, do you not .? Well, if the day of rest was a 
geologic period you are compelled, if you would obey the 
command literally, to rest thousands of years as the Lord 
must have done, after the six days (geologic periods) of 
creation. This would be quite impracticable. It would 
slightly retard progress. It would” — 

Theo began to see that he was trifling. All at once 
she remembered how his “loose views” about religion 
had excited the indignation of her father. She inter- 
rupted him. 

“ I cannot hear you ridicule what is sacred to me. I 
beg you to say no more.” 

He bowed in mock humility. “I crave your pardon.” 
Then turning to Mrs. Graybill he said, “ I have lost my 
case, you see, as I predicted.” 


TUEO WADDINGTON 


101 


“Not through the fault of your logic, however!'' 
she replied. “Ah, Mr. Colwell, are you impatient to 
begin the game.^” she exclaimed to the young man as 
he approached her. 

“ If Miss Waddington will be my partner,” stepping to 
Theo’s side and smiling upon her patronizingly. Mr. 
Colwell patronized everybody. “If Miss Waddington 
will be my partner I am very anxious to begin. If not, 
I shall not play to-day.” 

“Miss Waddington is not going to play,” Mrs. Graybill 
said. 

“Ah, how fortunate! Then she and I can have a dear 
little tete-a-tete^ while you all have your attention turned 
from us to your cards. Can’t we. Miss Waddington 
They are all taking their places at the tables now — will 
you let me lead you to that charming divan in the bay- 
window where we may have some ‘flow of soul’, don’t 
you know, as the poet says, without disturbing the 
players.?” 

“I am not in this room this afternoon for the purpose 
of enjoying myself, Mr. Colwell. I shall stay only a lit- 
tle while to look on and see what is the New York fash- 
ionable method of keeping the fourth commandment, and 
then I shall ask Cousin Violet to excuse me.” 

Mr. Colwell was too well bred to look all the astonish- 
ment he felt at this unexpected reply. He was not 
accustomed to having his favors thus coolly rejected. 

“ Well, at least. Miss Waddington, you will let me sit 
beside you, while you are looking on, won’t you .? I may 
be able to help you to a conclusion about the matter by 
giving you a few points.” 

Theo accepted his proffered arm and allowed herself to 


102 


THEO WADDJNGTON 


be led to a chair near one of the card tables. This table 
happened to be the one at which, a moment later, Mr. 
Rushmore and Mrs. Graybill seated themselves with, their 
opponents to open the game of whist. 

“Mrs. Graybill tells me you are probably going to 
spend the remainder of the winter here.^” Mr. Colwell 
said, as he drew his chair a little closer to Theo’s side, 
and smiled upon her. 

The statement was made in the tone of an inquiry; 
but Theo neither confirmed nor denied it. She was not 
in the habit of talking unless she really had something to 
say. 

“I hope you will stay with us,” he continued, effu- 
sively. “ It will be so lovely of you to let us have the 
pleasure of your society.” 

She looked at him in surprise. “Why, what makes 
you say that, when you don’t know me at all ^ My soci- 
ety can’t possibly give any of you much pleasure. I am 
very dull.” 

Mr. Colwell thought he had never in his life met so 
extraordinary a young lady. 

“We have perfectly charming times in New York dur- 
ing the season,” he said, rather irrelevantly. “I am sure 
you will enjoy yourself. There are to be quite a number 
of germans and some weddings and parties this winter. 
I am going to have several nice things myself. New 
York is such a dear place, except during Lent. Oh, 
won’t you help me to decide what I shall abstain from 
during Lent, Miss Waddington .? It is so hard to come 
to a conclusion about such a matter. What are you 
going to give up?'* 

“I never fast in Lent.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


103 


*‘Oh! Why, how shocking! But I really imagined 
you did, don’t you know. I imagined you were one of 
those persons who really enjoy giving up things in Lent. 
Now I don't enjoy it at all ; but I do it from a sense of 
duty because it’s the thing, don’t you know, and every- 
one does it, and it’s sort of expected of one. And then, 
of course, I think it’s a perfectly lovely idea and all that 
sort of thing. You’re not a Church-woman, I suppose.?” 

^‘An Episcopalian.? No; I am a Presbyterian.” 

‘*Oh, how perfectly horrid! Really you must pardon 
me, but, do you know, I can’t imagine myself being any- 
thing else than a Church-man. Won’t you let me take 
you to Holy Trinity next Sunday.?” 

‘‘Thank you, but my father dislikes elaborate ritual, 
and I promised him before I came away from home, that 
I would attend Dr. Hall’s Presbyterian Church every 
Sabbath.” 

“Oh, don’t you find it very tiresome.? If I get to 
church once a month I think I do well, very well, indeed. 
But I send flowers for the altar every Sunday. Don’t 
you perfectly adore flowers .? They speak to you so beau- 
tifully, don’t they.?” 

She was looking at him now with genuine interest, and 
he was gratified at having gained her difficult attention. 
She was, in fact, thinking what a very unusual sort of 
man he was. She had never before met anyone like him. 
His inane remarks, his effeminate gushing manners, his 
odd accent and his exquisite appearance, were each and 
all remarkable in her eyes. She wondered what her sis- 
ters, Lila and Amy, would have thought of him. 

Rushmore, who was observing her while he played out 
his cards, felt somewhat amused at her unsophisticated 


104 


THEO WADDINGTOM 


surprise at Colwell’s peculiarities. The young nabob was 
not at all an unusual type in New York society. 

“ Colwell’s gotten his foot in it,” thought he. “What 
a tough time he will have entertaining that personifica- 
tion of Calvinistic bigotry, all the while we play. She 
is not properly impressed with the honor he is confer- 
ring upon her,” he told himself, with an inward sneer. 
“Wait until she is invited to his great mansion and real- 
izes something of his importance, then we shall see how 
she will take his attentions.” 

Meantime, Theo’s eyes were often upon Rushmore. 
He observed this, and wondered at it somewhat; for in 
the earnest, direct glance which every now and then 
sought his face there was none of the vain self-conscious- 
ness with which women usually met his eye. 

When at last the game of whist came to an end, the 
grand piano was opened, and while the company rested 
from the mental labor of the game they listened languidly 
to the music rendered by the different members of the 
party. 

If Theo had been shocked at the “gambling cards”, 
she was by no means mollified by the style of music 
played and sang by her cousin’s guests. In her father’s 
house the piano was never opened on Sunday, and the 
sound of it now fell upon her solemn sense of the sacred- 
ness of the day with a harsh discordance. The music 
selected, although choice and more brilliant than any she 
had ever heard, had no charm for her. It was all secular, 
and it pained her heart to hear it. 

“You really can’t imagine how passionately I love 
music. Miss Waddington,” remarked Mr. Colwell, who 
continued to hover over her, somewhat to Rushmore’s 


THEO WADDINGTON 


105 


surprise. That cynical individual had expected to see 
the poor victim of Miss Waddington’s scruples and cold- 
ness take immediate advantage of the breaking up of the 
game, to escape from her side; but, strange to say, he 
showed not the slightest inclination to leave her when 
convenient opportunities offered themselves. 

‘‘Aren’t you devoted to music. Miss Waddington ” he 
demanded, as she made no reply to his first remark. 

“I don’t devote more than an hour a day to it,” for she 
interpreted him quite literally. 

“ Oh, I mean aren’t you very, very fond of it, don’t you 
know ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Oh, so am 1. Do tell me who are your favorite com- 
posers ? Don’t you adore Chopin ? ” 

“I’m fond of him, yes.” 

“So am I,” he said, enthusiastically. “Oh, that man 
Chopin, I couldn’t live without him ! I couldn’t live with- 
out him ! Could you ? ” 

“I am afraid I could.” 

“Your nature is very unimpassioned, I see,” he said, 
looking at her somewhat compassionately. Now, I am 
so unfortunate as to possess one of those highly nervous, 
sensitive, musical organisms, don’t you know.!*” 

Again he looked at her inquiringly, but she did not 
venture any comment. 

“Now last night,” he continued, “I went to a musical 
and heard for the first time a beautiful new sonata. And 
I was so excited — you can’t imagine how excited I was. 
Oh ! what it is to discover a new beauty ! You play and 
sing, don’t you ” he asked abruptly. 

“Yes,” said Theo. “I do sing and play a little.” 


10(3 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“ How charming ! Would you be so kind as to give us 
something? I am so anxious to hear you. Do let me 
lead you to the piano. Mrs. Graybill,” he added, turning 
to the hostess, “your cousin is going to favor us. I 
think it is so perfectly lovely of her, isn’t it ?” 

“Why, Theo, dear, I had no idea you sang and played. 
You never told me so.” 

Theo made no reply. She was sitting pale and silent, 
her eyes bent down upon the hands clasped in her lap. 
She was having a struggle with herself. Should she 
sing? Only one thing made her falter; the cold, sarcas- 
tic face of Mr. Horace Rushmore, for she had been con- 
scious of his keen examination of herself ever since she 
had entered his presence. Only a short time, however, 
did she hesitate. In a moment she looked up, rose from 
her chair, and ignoring Mr. Colwell’s proffered arm, 
walked slowly to the piano. 

Mr. Colwell was astonished. However, he gracefully 
covered his chagrin by seating himself near the instru- 
ment, and in such a position that he should have a full 
view of her face while she sang. 

“She is going to do something horribly unconven- 
tional, I’m sure,” Mrs. Graybill whispered to Rushmore, 
who was seated by her side on an India silk ottoman. 

“You speak very calmly; you don’t seem disturbed by 
the prospect.” 

“No. It is her unconventionality that makes her 
interesting to me. She is such a pleasant change after 
the people I’ve been accustomed to all my life. One 
never knows what queer thing she will do next. There 
is a delightful uncertainty about her. It is really a com- 
fort to me to have her with me.” 


THEO WADDJNGTON 


107 


“ Listen ! ” said Rushmore, for she bad begun to play. 
She struck a few chords with a firm, but soft touch, 
which made the cumbrous instrument seem a toy in her 
skilled hands. Then, to the astonishment of everyone in 
the room, she began to sing in a low, but remarkably 
expressive voice, the words of the familiar hymn — 


“O Jesus, Thou Art Standing.” 

She sang in the simplest manner and without the least 
effort. Her grave spiritual countenance bespoke the 
earnestness with which she uttered every word of the 
beautiful hymn, and revealed the passionate longing of 
her heart that its admonitions might be felt by those who 
heard it from her lips just now — 

“O Jesus, Thou art standing 
Outside the fast-closed door, 

In lowly patience waiting 
To pass the threshold o’er ; 

We bear the name of Christians, 

His name and sign we bear ; 

O Shame, thrice shame upon us, 

To keep Him standing there. 

“O Jesus, Thou art knocking; 

And lo ! that hand is scarr’d, 

And thorns Thy brow encircle. 

And tears Thy face have marr’d ; 

O love that passeth knowledge 
So patiently to wait ! 

O sin that hath no equal, 

So fast to bar the gate. 

Jesus, Thou art pleading 
In accents meek and low, 

* I died for you, my children, 

And will ye treat me so ? * 


108 


THEO WADDINGTON 


O Lord, with shame and sorrow 
We open now the door; 

Dear Saviour, enter, enter. 

And leave us nevermore.” 


For a moment after she had finished, the room was 
perfectly silent. When she had first begun to sing the 
surprise, occasioned by the oddity of her selection, had 
been mixed with a carefully concealed inclination to 
smile or even titter. But now, no such tendency was 
felt by anyone in the parlors. When she rose from the 
piano-stool, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were 
very bright as involuntarily her earnest gaze sought, for 
an instant, Rushmore’s face. 

Then the usual hackneyed compliments from the com- 
pany drew her attention away from him again, and 
she silently listened as they pronounced her voice 
“divine”, her expression “eloquent”, and her touch 
“really artistic”. 

When finally there was a lull in this flow of words, 
Theo raised her eyes and looked about upon them all as 
she said, in a low, distinct voice — 

“My friends, I wish you would think of the words I 
have sung to you, and not of my voice and my playing.” 

She took a step to Mrs. Graybill’s side, spoke to her 
for an instant, and then, with a slight bow to the com- 
pany, turned and left the room. 

Mrs. Graybill’s tact, never at a loss, at once broke the 
awkward silence which followed this unusual episode by a 
remark which immediately started conversation and set 
every one at ease again. 

In the general animation which followed the momen- 
tary seriousness caused by Miss Waddington’s eccentric 


THEO WADDINGTON 


100 


conduct, Rushmore was able unnoticed to withdraw from 
Mrs. Graybill’s side into the retired recess of a heavily- 
curtained, deep bay-window. 

Scarcely acknowledged to himself had been the invol- 
untary regret he had experienced as he had seen . Miss 
Waddington disappear through the door. Strange to 
say, her going had seemed to him like the taking away of 
the one and only pure breath from a stifling atmosphere 
of frivolity and artificiality. When the door had closed 
upon her, he had found himself suddenly feeling unac- 
countably oppressed. He had wanted to get away from 
.them all and be alone. 

And now, as he leaned heavily against the glass of the 
bay-window and dreamily contemplated the huge brick 
wall which loomed up outside, his sense of oppression did 
not diminish. It was not often that his busy, energetic 
disposition allowed him to indulge himself in fits of mel- 
ancholy. Hard work was usually his antidote for a spell 
of more than usual depression. 

He was rather relieved than otherwise, when, after a 
while, Mrs. Graybill, drawing aside the pale, canary- 
colored silk curtains behind which he had retired, stepped 
into the bay-window and stood beside him. 

Neither spoke for a moment after she had joined him. 
But presently she said — 

“Well, what do you think of her.?” 

“ Of whom .? ” 

She looked at him keenly — “I had really thought you 
were impressed with her, Mr. Rushmore.” 

“Again may I ask of whom you are speaking.?” 

“Of Miss Waddington, of course. Come, tell me, 
isn’t she diverting .? What is your opinion of her .? ” 


110 


THEO WADDINGTON 


He laughed contemptuously. “Mentally cloudy,” was 
his brief comment. 

“Indeed your usually keen insight is at fault here, 
Mr. Rushmore. But at least you must acknowledge that 
she js handsome } ” 

“Yes. But I am never attracted by beauty which is 
not the expression of its possessor’s mind.” 

“There you have exactly described Theo’s beauty. 

Its charm consists in its being an expression of her mind 
and character, rather than its physical perfection. At 
least, I think so. Now really, isn’t that your opinion, 
too.^” 

“I have already told you, my impression, from the 
little I’ve seen of her this afternoon, is that she is 
mentally cloudy.” 

“Do you think Isabel’s beauty an expression of her ; 
mind ” she asked, amiably. ; 

He looked at her coolly, showing no sign of annoyance i 
at the sarcasm in her question. j 

“Isabel is a clever woman,” he said, “as you would \ 
know if you were to hear us in one of our little daily ] 
discussions. She always gets the better of me in an \ 
argument.” 

“You are fond of intellectual women, are you not.^” 

“ I never knew but a few in all my life, and they were 
not madly captivating, being Yankee school-niistresses, I 
think, without a drop of sap left in them.” 

Meanwhile Theo, sitting lonely and sad in her great, 
gloomy, beautiful bed-chamber, was fighting out with 
herself her first severe attack of homesickness. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


111 


CHAPTER III 

N OW, Theo, don’t forget what I advised you.” 

“You have given me so much advice, Cousin Vio- 
let — to what particular item do you refer just now.?” 

They were standing together in one of the spacious 
dressing-rooms of Mr. Colwell’s home. They had gone 
a little apart from the other ladies, who were laying off 
their party wraps and resurrecting from dainty silk bags 
various fascinating articles such as fans, lace handker- 
chiefs and gloves several yards long. 

Mrs. Graybill stood in front of her cousin and talked 
to her while they both drew on their gloves. 

“Remember, Theo, you must not be silent. Be espe- 
cially talkative with gentlemen. Don’t on any account 
let conversation flag.” 

“But when I really haven’t anything to say.?” 

“You must make talk. It is absolutely essential.” 
“When I say things for the mere sake of saying some- 
thing, I feel like a — a liar.” 

“My dear, it is positively vulgar to be so outspoken 
and — and honest. No, it isn’t vulgar in you,” she has- 
tily corrected herself; “but it would be in most people.” 

“I wish ‘most people’ were ‘positively vulgar ’, then. 
I could well dispense with some of the polish for a little 
refreshing candor and truth. The elaborate manners of 
people in society completely mock their real thought and 


112 


THEO WADDINGTON 


feelings. They would be so much more interesting if 
they were more simple and direct.” 

“You must grant, Theo, that some few of our soci- 
ety people are plain-spoken persons — Mr. Rushmore, for 
instance.” 

“You forget that I have met him but once. He has 
not been to any of the parties which we have attended 
during the past few weeks.” 

“He is too busy to go out much. I think, however, 
that he will be here to-night.” 

“Do you V' Theo said, with a touch of interest in her 
tone which her cousin was quick to see. 

“Do you like him, Theo.? Do you think that he is 
interesting.?” 

“I pity him,” she briefly replied, suddenly turning 
aside and picking up her fan from a table behind her. 
“I am ready. Cousin Violet, if you are.” 

“You look positively queenly to-night, Theo. Black 
velvet is so becoming to you. I wish your father could 
see you just now; he would be more proud than ever of 
his handsome daughter.” 

“I am afraid he would not approve of these bare arms 
and this exposed neck,” she said, looking down on her 
white flesh with such a dubious, half-distressed expression 
in her face, that Mrs. Graybill laughed delightedly. 

“You are so amusing, Theo. Well, come, we will go 
down now.” 

They made their way through the crowded rooms, Mrs. 
Graybill bowing and smiling on all sides as they passed 
on to the door. Mr. Graybill met them there, and they 
moved on down the wide, wonderfully carved stairway 
toward the reception rooms below. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


113 


Theo had seen a great deal of magnificence since she 
had come to New York, but anything so recklessly lavish 
as the wealth displayed in the home of the millionaire, 
young Colwell, had never even entered her imagination. 
The beauty and luxury which she saw in this New York 
palace had a sensuous charm for her such as she had not 
experienced since her childhood’s delight in the enchanted 
palace of Aladdin. 

Colwell welcomed her with marked condescension and 
with the most evident pleasure. 

“ So good of you to come, Miss Waddington, when you 
don’t really care about dancing ! I am sure it is just too 
lovely of you for anything. Did you get the flowers I 
sent you yesterday morning } ”• 

Yes, thank you.” 

*‘Oh, don’t mention it; such a trifle, you know. Are 
you not going to dance one bit to-night 1 I do so want 
the pleasure of a little turn with you.” 

“I have never learned to dance.” 

“ I wish for your sake that this was a musical instead 
of a dance,” he said. ‘‘This is the first thing I’ve had for 
about a fortnight. The last thing I had was an afternoon 
tea, you know, and you were unable to come. I was so 
awfully sorry, but this is going to be nicer than that, at 
any rate.” 

Rushmore, who from the opposite side of the room had 
seen the Graybills enter with Miss Waddington, was not 
a little astonished to observe the transformation in the 
appearance of the plainly dressed young lady, whose 
acquaintance he had made a few weeks before. Miss 
Waddington’s fashionable party costume seemed to have 
changed a unique and unsophisticated character into a 


114 


THEO WADDINGTON 


thorough woman of the world. The change was startling 
and not at first pleasing. He involuntarily experienced a 
slight regret as he saw it. 

He had watched with interest her manner of greeting 
the host of the evening. 

‘‘Now that she has seen his house and has a faint 
glimpse of his fabulous wealth, how will she treat him } ” 
was the question which he asked of his cynical mind. 
“Colwell’s wealth makes most people blind to his 
absurdities.” 

But his keen eyes could detect in her countenance, as 
she stood in her queenly beauty and talked with the 
exquisitely-dressed young host, not the slightest modifi- 
cation of the dignified reserve with which he had been 
impressed in his former observation of her. 

He was just a trifle astonished to see her, after a very 
few moments, excuse herself and leave Colwell standing 
alone a few yards from his sister, who was helping him to 
receive. Miss Waddington then joined Mrs. Graybill, 
who had moved to the other side of the room, and who 
looked not at all pleased at her young cousin’s seem- 
ing coldness toward the host. But her approbation of 
Theo was soon restored, for in a short time the place 
where they stood was surrounded by some of the most 
interesting gentlemen in the parlors. Yet Theo’s face 
did not flush nor her eyes grow bright under the ardent 
admiration she excited. Rushmore noticed that she actu- 
ally seemed quite unconscious of it. Once or twice he 
saw her eyes wander away from the group surrounding 
her and rove about the room as though in search of some 
one. 

But soon his own attention was taken up by some 


THEO IVADDINGTON 


115 


ladies who called him to them, and during the next hour 
he did not again have a glimpse of her. Indeed she quite 
escaped his mind amid the crowds and the excitement 
and the bustle of the dance. When again reminded of 
her existence it was in a rather singular manner. 

Meanwhile, Theo, despite her ignorance of the art of 
dancing, was having by no means an uninteresting time. 
She never did have a gay, jovial time at the many parties 
to which her cousin took her ; she had not yet learned the 
secret and the meaning of gayety and brilliant pleasure. 
But the new scenes into which she found herself intro- 
duced, the new people whom she met, the entirely new 
phase of life she was called upon to study and to share, 
all had a profound interest for her ; and when one is pro- 
foundly interested in anything, one is not unhappy. It 
was only in occasional, rare moments that she realized 
how out of harmony she really was with the brilliant life 
in the midst of which she moved. 

If she had been less handsome than she was, she would 
have been a failure in society, since she could neither 
dance nor indulge in small talk with the least degree of 
grace. For only when she was thoroughly in earnest was 
she natural and at ease. But her interesting, beautiful 
face and her noble figure quite made up for her other 
deficiencies, and Miss Waddington was not a wall-flower. 
Indeed, she often rather wearied of the attentions lavished 
I upon her, and occasionally would endeavor to steal off 
alone to some secluded corner where she could look on 
I and meditate,' and indulge that ever-active fancy of hers 
I without the interruption of having every little while to 
I reply to some inane remark addressed to her. 

A combination of fortuitous circumstances had enabled 


116 


THEO WADDINGTON 


her to do this on this evening at Mr. Colwell’s when she 
had grown tired of talking to people. She had retreated 
to a small divan which stood behind a large marble statue ; 
this statue represented a beautiful young captive, tied 
hand and foot, ready to be carried, to a Roman slave mar- 
ket, and the misery in the marble face seemed in Theo’s 
imagination to reproach the levity and brightness in the 
parlors beyond. 

It was a fine work of art, and Theo was just about los- 
ing herself in the contemplation of it, and becoming 
utterly oblivious of the little world around her, as in 
fancy she was traveling swiftly back to the days of 
Rome’s shameful glory, when suddenly something made 
her look up, and to her chagrin, she perceived that her 
retreat had been observed. A gentleman had separated 
himself from one of the groups at the other end of the 
dancing-hall, and was evidently coming to find her. As 
he drew nearer she studiously avoided seeing him, and 
persistently gazed upon the face of the captive, until he 
paused directly in front of her, and she could no longer 
with propriety ignore him. 

When she did look up at him she was surprised to find 
from his garb that he was unmistakably a Presbyterian 
minister — a young man about thirty-five years of age. 
She was not so sorry, then, that he had come to her. 
She could feel at home with clergymen as with no other 
sort of men. She had been brought up on them. 

He stood before her for an instant without speaking, 
looking at her earnestly. The moment Theo’s eyes fell 
upon his face she knew she had seen him somewhere 
before. 

<‘Miss Waddington,” he said, holding out his hand. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


in 


She gave him her own as she replied, ''You have the 
advantage of me, although both your face and your voice 
seem very familiar.” 

"I recognized you as soon .as I saw you,” he said. 
"You ought to recognize me before you hear my name, 
for I have not changed since last we met as you have 
changed. You were only a little girl when I knew you.” 

" Please tell me who you are } ” she said, seriously. " I 
can’t recall you at all.” 

He drew a chair to the divan where she was sitting and 
seated himself beside her. " Now look at me, and see if 
you cannot remember.” 

She obeyed and as she studied his face long and 
earnestly, the quiet, obstinate countenance before her 
seemed to grow more and more familiar, until his name 
fell involuntarily from her lips. 

"Mr. Udell! You once stayed at our house during 
the convention of a Synod — I remember you now, very 
well, indeed!” 

"Somehow I thought you would,” he said, in a cool, 
quiet tone which Theo remembered so clearly and which 
in her childhood had aroused in her heart a vague 
instinct of antagonism toward him. Even now she felt 
herself at once repelled and fascinated by the peculiar 
and almost cruel stubbornness in the set of his lower jaw 
and in the curve of his lips. 

"I am surprised, Mr. Udell,” she said, "that you 
should have recognized me after all these years.” 

" I never forget a face I have once seen ; you have 
changed, of course. But there is the same unmistakable 
look in the eyes and about the mouth which I should 
have known anywhere and at any time.” 


118 


THEO WADDINGTON 


And yet it is eight years since you last saw me, Mr. 
Udell. Some people could not possibly have remembered 
my face so long as that, especially, since it is so changed.” 

“Yes. None but an eye like my own would recognize 
in the woman before me the rather homely little ‘Theo\ 
who had, I recollect, secret thoughts from her father.” 

“Ah, I remember,” she said, gravely. “What a 
naughty little girl I was.” 

“Do you really mean that.^” he inquired, looking at 
her searchingly as he leaned back in his chair and folded 
his arms across his chest. “Do you now never have 
‘secret thoughts ’ from papa } ” 

“No,” she said, a little coldly. “My mind is an open 
book to my father now — almost.” 

“What does that ‘almost’ signify.?” 

“I suppose in every life,” she slowly replied, “there is 
a current that must always move in secret solitude, that 
can never be revealed even to one’s nearest and dearest.” 

He made no reply to this, and for a moment they were 
silent. Then presently Theo said — 

“ Please tell me how you happen to be here to-night. 
I am so surprised to find you here. It is a strange place 
for a Presbyterian minister to be.” 

“Colwell is my cousin. I just happened in this even- 
ing accidentally. He insisted upon my remaining — said 
he wanted me to meet a charming new friend of his — 
and when he mentioned your name I consented at once 
to remain. Won’t you tell me, now, all about your inter- 
esting family .? I remember every one of you. How is 
Joe .? Is he studying theology .? ” 

“No,” said Theo, not smiling. “Joe is just finishing 
his studies at a school of pharmacy. He is a very dear 


THEO WADDINGTON 


119 


boy, although not so earnest and serious as we should like 
to have him.’* 

‘‘And Harold?” 

“Harold is pastor of a small church in a town eight 
miles from New York. He is in delicate health.” 

“Ambrose?” 

Theo’s face flushed slightly and she looked down as 
she replied — 

“ Dear little Ambrose died when he was twelve years 
old. It was such a great blow to Father. He had never 
lost a child before. And no doubt you remember what 
a very fond father he was.” 

“Yes,” he acquiesced, with an old look in his eyes 
which annoyed Theo. 

“Your sisters Amy and Lila?” he continued. “What 
has become of them ? I remember how pretty Lila was.” 

“She is married to one of our elders, Dr. Brockton, 
and lives next door to us. She has a baby boy of whom 
we are all absurdly proud. I received an enthusiastic let- 
ter from her yesterday, telling me that the darling's first 
tooth was safely through. Amy will be married in the 
spring to a Presbyterian minister of Philadelphia, Dr. 
Howe.” 

“What a family of preachers you will be — your father, 
your brother and your brother-in-law all in the ministry. 
I know Dr. Howe well,” he continued. “ He stands 
very high in the church. Amy was the sister who had 
the stern sense of duty, quite severely virtuous, wasn’t 
she ? ” 

“ I think Amy has fewer weaknesses than any of us. 
But, Mr. Udell,” she said, “it seems quite remarkable to 
me that you should remember us all so well, when you 


120 


THEO WADDINGTON 


were with us for only one week and that so long ago. 
Some persons would not recall even our family name 
under similar circumstances,” she added, thinking of 
Rushmore’s failure to recognize her. 

“ I think I rarely forget or overlook anything,” he said, 
very quietly. 

The subtle strength which Theo felt in that quiet man- . 
ner he had of speaking, made her almost fear him, in a 
vague, unreasoning sort of a way. 

“ There is something rather uncanny about a memory 
like yours,” she said, half uneasily, half smilingly. 

“I believe some of my pupils find it to be so,” he 
replied, looking as though he felt a calm satisfaction in 
his peculiarity. 

“Your pupils Are you a pedagogue It is my turn ■ 
to catechise now.” ! 

“ But you have not yet finished giving me an account ] 
of your family,” he objected. “ I shall tell you about I 
myself when I have heard the conclusion of your ; 
account.” i 

“I think I did tell you about all of us — Harold, Joe, 

Lila and Amy — of whom else shall I speak } ” 

“Yourself.” 

“There is nothing of interest to tell about myself.” 

“ Nothing } ” he asked, half suspiciously. 

She looked at him in surprise. “Absolutely nothing,” 
she replied. 

“I think I can predict something.” 

“What.?” 

“You will be the next one to leave the home-nest, 
after your sister Amy.” 

She shook her head. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


121 


“I shall always stay with father and mother. I can 
never love any man as I love father. My parents will 
need one daughter at home.” 

Your large family is gradually growing smaller, is it 
not ? ” 

“Yes. We all look forward with dread to Amy’s mar- 
riage. We are such a united family that any break 
wrenches a very vital part of our life. But Joe and I will 
still be at home, and you know we have Lila and her hus- 
band and little boy next door to us. Our two households 
are just like one. Harold, too, comes up to see us every 
week. I wish you could know Harold,” she added, lean- 
ing back on her divan and giving herself up to the pleas- 
ure of talking about these treasures of her life. “ He is 
a very fine young man. He is completely consecrated. 
Father is so proud of him. He has turned out to be just 
as my father wanted to have him.” 

“Not many fathers’ wishes are so realized.” 

“I suppose not,” she said, gravely. “But you know 
what a careful father mine was. You could not have 
been in our house a whole week without having noticed 
that.” 

“ I noticed it ^ yes.” 

“Do you know,” she went on, “this little talk with you 
is making me very homesick } ” 

“You are very fond of your home. Your tastes are 
domestic } ” he questioned, keeping his keen eyes upon 
her face. Somehow it made her uneasy to meet his 
almost impertinently close scrutiny. She looked down 
at the hands in her lap, as she replied — 

“That depends upon what you mean by domestic. I 
dislike all sorts of housework, although I love a cosy. 


122 


THEO WADDINGTON 


beautifully kept home, and cannot abide disorder. My 
own home is, of course, the dearest place in the world to 
me.” 

After this taste of New York which you are having, 
you will, I imagine, find your life in York very dull, when 
you go back.” 

“I think not, Mr. Udell. No society is so pleasant to 
me as that of my parents and brothers and sisters.” 

<‘I did not think you would grow up such a simple- 
hearted maiden, Miss Waddington. I have thought of 
you often in these eight years. You were a child whom 
one would naturally recall. I had imagined you would 
turn out a rather strong-minded, free-thinking woman. 
But home influence seems to have completely overcome 
your natural tendencies.” 

*‘You think I should have developed into something 
very extraordinary and you find me quite commonplace.” 

*<Not commonplace. No one could look at you and 
call you that. But describe to me, please, that home life 
with which you are so absolutely contented.” 

She raised her eyes to his face. 

“Contented.^ I did not say I was contented. At 
home, I am always busy and sometimes happy ; but rarely 
ever really contented. I am a restless, hungry creature ! ” 

A shadow crept into her dark eyes as she spoke, which 
revealed to him more than did her words the deep-seated 
unrest of her strong nature. 

“All Teutonic peoples,” he said, “are inclined to mel- 
ancholy more or less. There is a shade of it in the 
nature of all of us. If you will examine the faces of peo- 
ple whom you meet on the street, in the cars, everywhere 
you will observe a sadness in every countenance which is 


THEO WADDINGTON 


123 


in repose. Try it yourself, sometimes, and see if it is 
not the case.” 

She made no reply, and he watched her for a moment 
in silence, until he saw her grow uneasy again under his 
gaze. Then he said — 

“You say you are always busy at home. What do you 
do.?” 

“ Do .? ” she repeated ; and a little weary smile played 
about her mouth as she added, “ I make calls, study, 
read, write, go to church, teach a class in a Mission 
Sabbath School, and visit the poor and the sick of 
father’s congregation. You see my life is quite com- 
monplace and aimless.” 

“ What do you study and what do you write .? ” 

“I study a variety of things — languages, history, 
Scriptural subjects, music. I write — letters to Harold, 
and occasionally, some pages in my journal.” 

“ Even as a child you were a thoughtful little student. 
Do you remember what a little skeptic you used to be .? 
Are you never troubled by doubts .? ” 

“I do not allow myself to be. I avoid all reading 
which could possibly disturb my faith. I refuse to cher- 
ish a single unfaithful thought which may come to me. 
I will not even talk with people who are skeptical.” 

To Theo’s astonishment a voice just behind her divan 
suddenly replied to her — 

“ That attitude of mind which refuses to face unpalata- 
ble truths is contemptible and unworthy.” 

She looked up startled and surprised. But Udell did 
not turn, and his cold, quiet countenance remained quite 
unmoved. There stood Rushmore, just behind her divan, 
his arms folded across his broad chest, his brilliant eyes 


124 


THEO WADDINGTON 


looking down upon her with an expression half curious, 
half cynical. ^ 

The color rushed into her face as she instantly turned 
away from him again. He coolly stepped around in front 
of her and leaned against the side of Udell’s chair in 
the favorite, characteristic attitude which made him look 
so strong and manly — his head slightly throwji back, one 
foot moved a little forward, one hand thrust between the 
buttons of his coat and the other thrown behind him. 

“Has my eccentric friend Rushmore ever been pre- 
sented to you. Miss Waddington ” Udell inquired. 

“ I have had that honor,” Rushmore interrupted. 
“ But I believe I have not yet spoken to Miss Wadding- 
ton this evening. How do you do V' 

He held out his hand, but Theo made no move to give 
him her own. 

“You offer to shake hands with one whom you have 
just called contemptible and unworthy she asked, with- 
out, however, the least resentment in her manner. 

He withdrew his hand and thrust his fingers back 
again into the space between the buttons of his waistcoat. 

“No doubt I was abrupt. I beg your pardon. I 
might have framed that remark of mine in polite, 
inoffensive terms.” 

“I do not see how, possibly,” Theo replied, quietly. 

“I wish,” he said, with some degree of earnestness, 
“that everyone could be brought to feel the truth of it. 
What a revolution would be made in our method of 
thought and of conduct ! ” 

“When you have disturbed another’s faith what good 
have you done } None ! Only a very great harm. If 
religion makes people contented why disturb them in it .? 


THEO WADDINGTON 


125 


Apart from the wickedness of the act, how foolish it 
is ! ” 

“Contented?” he repeated. “Who is contented? 
Animals are, I suppose, and very stupid human beings. 
Don’t mistake me. I have long since outgrown that state 
of which Robert Browning speaks — 

“ ‘ Making proselytes as madmen thirst to do ; 

How can he give another the real ground, his own conviction.’ 

“ I am too much of a pessimist to think it worth my 
while to take the trouble to disturb anyone’s stupid con- 
tentment. But, if I had not such a contempt for human 
nature, I should consider happiness, at the expense of 
cherishing error, a doubtful blessing. We need to be 
roused from our contented lethargy. Hegel says, ‘The 
happiest age of a nation is not its most productive age ’ ; 
and I think the same is true of the individual. Few 
real blessings come to us except through a previous 
season of struggling and suffering. It is through mental 
throes and spiritual revolutions that we painfully and 
slowly climb upward. Luther disturbed the ‘content- 
ment’ of all Europe. Jesus’ teachings, in the fullness of 
time, shook the nations! Growth and progress mean 
struggle, revolution ! ” 

He wondered at the change which came over her face 
as she listened to his words. Slowly the color died out 
of her cheeks and she grew pale, even to her lips. 
When he had ceased, she lifted her eyes to his face and 
there was the look of some hunted thing in them. 

A movement of pity came over him as he recognized 
in that look, the unmistakable evidences of the long 
struggle in this nature between the intellect and the 


126 


THEO WADDINGTON 


heart, her intellectual promptings drawing her toward 
freedom and independence of thought ; her heart binding 
her to the creed of her father and her home; the creed 
which had become a part of herself through years of love 
and peace, and which made holy the tenderest ties of her 
life. 

She can never shake it off,” he thought. And close 
upon this conclusion followed the involuntary judgment : 
“ Her mind is too narrow and inferior to sustain such a 
struggle — although I suspect she is not without some 
mental parts.” 

“To the Christian, life is full of beautiful meaning,” 
Theo protested in reply to his speech ; but she did not 
now speak with confidence and decision. “To the 
agnostic, it must be utterly barren and meaningless.” 

“To the agnostic, man’s destiny ‘consists in resigna- 
tion and activity’, as Comte says. “Men are like chil- 
dren playing by the seashore who build their little forts 
and castles of sand, and the great waves come with the 
rising tide and sweep and level the long beach, the world 
around. Then the children go on with the play again, as 
though their forts would stand forever. Men build with 
sand of gold and silver. Some sturdy grovellers scratch 
big piles together, and all the world wonders. The work 
of a Croesus or a Vanderbilt rises for a time above the 
destroying waves ; but a few centuries slip by, and Croe- 
sus or Vanderbilt, or our friend Colwell, where are they } ” 

“But meanwhile,” said Theo, with, flushed cheeks and 
very bright eyes, “ in some safe, strong place, where cur- 
rents meet, a wise and thoughtful man, with earnest toil, 
places a single stubborn rock. The waters wash around 
it. The waves that level the sand cannot move it. The 


THEO WADDINGTON 


12t 


currents leave upon it wreckage and drift. Even ‘all-de- 
stroying time ’ is baffled. A strong-hold is formed, cur- 
rents are given new directions, vessels find safe harbor. 
Through years, generations and long stormy centuries, 
the little work of the earnest, thoughtful Christian grows 
in value.” 

For a moment after she had spoken there was silence. 
Then Rushmore, ignoring Udell’s reverend presence, 
said — 

“ Agnosticism has in it nothing which can supply 
the comfort of the Christian faith. Nevertheless, I am 
always sorry for a young man whom I see entering the 
ministry. It is as if he were deliberately putting his 
intellect into a monastery. Any system which confines 
Truth within certain prescribed limits carries Death on its 
face. And the average young theologian comes out of 
the seminary with this Death stamped on his mind. He 
has thoroughly learned his system of dogmatism and 
thinks he has reached the end of Truth. Consequently 
he does not try to satisfy that eternal craving of the 
growing mind and soul, that hunger after Truth in all of 
its forms, and wherever it exists. To live is to strive. 
He rests. He has learned it all. There is nothing 
beyond the ingenious theological structure which he has 
studied. Life in all its forms and relations is looked at 
through the system, as through a glass, darkly. There is 
nothing left to search for. His intellect is indolent. It 
grows lazy and stagnates. It is entombed alive.” 

When he had finished, Theo rose from her divan and 
said in a slightly unsteady voice — 

“Pardon me, if I leave you now. When I tell you 
that my father and brother are both Christian ministers 


128 


THEO WADDINGTON 


you will understand how very unpleasant this conversa- 
tion has become to me.” 

She walked slowly away, leaving them standing alone 
together. They watched the majestic figure as it moved 
across the floor, finally disappearing amid the throngs in 
the room beyond. 

Then Rushmore turned his head and looked at Udell. 

“Such bigotry as that is quite phenomenal in these 
times, isn’t it 

“I quite understand it in her case.” 

“ I dare say,” said Rushmore with supreme indifference. 

He turned away and walked toward a door leading to a 
conservatory of flowers. He wanted to be alone. 

An hour later, when the evening’s festivities were on 
the wane, Theo, in weariness of spirit, had again separa- 
ted herself from the company and had sought a solitary 
corner where she was able to think uninterruptedly. She 
had just become absorbed in a problem which had been 
more or less occupying her busy brain all through the 
evening, a speculation upon the possession of the great 
wealth so lavishly displayed all around her in this home 
of the young millionaire Colwell. She had overheard 
some one say that the floral decorations for this little 
party had cost over $ 2 , 000 . The dishes from which they 
had eaten were of gold, silver, cut glass and the most 
costly imported china. The furniture throughout the 
house was extravagant in the extreme. “ Is it right } 
Should I like to be so rich } Would it make me more 
contented or happy ? Are these really the good things 
of life .? These people think them so, I know. They 
appear to enjoy themselves thoroughly. Life is sweet to 
them. They don’t know what it is to struggle and strive.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


120 


The answer came to her readily. “ It is unworthy to 
consider the good things of life. Christ would not have 
done so. His was the most blessed life of all, and it was 
entirely devoid of these so-called ‘good things’, which are 
really the heavy burden and the heavy yoke. ‘ His yoke 
is easy and His burden is light,’ because it brings with it 
that peace which the world cannot give.” And a prayer 
went up from her heart that she might always bear that 
easier yoke and that lighter burden of ,self-sacrificing love 
and devotion to Truth and Duty. 

She was well aware how the world bowed down to this 
young Croesus, Colwell. She must have been blindly 
stupid not to have observed it in all these weeks. It was 
a matter of wonder to her why people should so honor 
and kneel before a man who had nothing whatever to 
recommend him except a colossal fortune. There is 
nothing which will so effectually shatter one’s exalted 
conceptions of humanity as the observation of its servile, 
grovelling worship of the rich ; nothing which is so sure 
to arouse in an honest, self-poised mind that spirit of 
cynicism which denies the existence of anything really • 
great and good in human nature. 

Presently her meditation was disturbed. There were 
so few people in the part of the room where she sat, that 
any movement among them could not fail to be noticed. 
Theo’s eye was suddenly caught by a tall figure, step- 
ping rather heavily across the floor. It was Rushmore. 
She saw him edge his way between isolated groups of 
chatterers and various pieces of furniture and draw near 
to the corner where she sat. Was he coming to speak 
with her.^ Her heart leapt in her bosom, and then as 
suddenly became still and calm again. 


130 


THEO WADDINGTON 


But in a moment she perceived it was not she whom 
his eyes sought. It was that pretty, fragile-looking 
creature on the sofa near by whom he was approaching, 
that lovely young thing in pale pink tulle whose appear- 
ance Theo could compare to nothing else than a cloud 
at sunset. 

She had been chatting gaily with a handsome young 
lieutenant who sat beside her, and she looked decidedly 
annoyed at the approach of Rushmore. Theo had 
noticed during the evening that most of the men were 
inclined to be extremely affable and agreeable in address- 
ing this dainty beauty. But as Rushmore’s large figure 
bent down over the small creature, Theo saw that his 
face was cold, and never more unsmiling ; when he spoke 
he was very grave. She was near enough to hear what 
he said. 

‘*Do you feel ready to go home now, Isabel.^” 

She answered him pettishly, with the fretfulness of a 
pampered, spoiled child — 

‘*I shall let you know when I am ready to go, Horace. 

, Do go away and leave me in peace ! ” 

He lifted his head and stood erect again. There was 
no perceptible change in the expression of his face. He 
turned and walked away, presently disappearing behind a 
heavy silk portiere which opened into a room beyond. 

Another half-hour passed by. Theo continued to sit 
in her obscure corner, which seemed to have been 
designed for solitary meditation. Nearly all the guests 
had departed and the few remaining ones were taking 
leave of Mr. Colwell and his married sister, but Theo 
could see from her post of observation that Mr. and Mrs. 
Graybill were as yet making no move to go. Mr. Rush^ 


THEO WADDING TON 


l:n 


more, too, still lingered ; and the fairy little woman in 
pink still sat on her sofa near Theo’s corner. The 
dainty, small creature was alone now, the handsome 
young lieutenant having left her a few moments -before. 
Theo noticed that she looked very tired, and that every 
now and then she glanced around the room as though in 
search of some one to come and take her away. 

Theo, herself, was in no hurry to be gone. Somehow, 
this evening, she had not felt her usual impatience to get 
away early from the gay pleasures which were so foreign 
to her nature. She scarcely understood why it was she 
was so content to remain to-night quite as long as her 
Cousin Violet chose to stay. She accounted for it, in 
part, by the interest which had sprung up in her mind 
concerning the pretty woman in pink tulle. Once, Theo 
distinctly saw this small woman’s eyes meet Rushmore’s 
as he stood at the other end of the room talking to Col- 
well. Rushmore’s glance toward her had been keen and 
direct. Hers had been a pouting, injured look which 
should have made its victim feel himself a criminal 
indeed. But it did not appear to affect him in the slight- 
est, for he took no further notice of her for some time. 

At last, however, the rooms were almost entirely emp- 
tied. No one remained except the Graybills, Rushmore, 
mine host and hostess. They approached in a group the 
end of the room where the young lady in pink sat alone. 
Colwell at once espied Theo in her corner and hastened 
to seat himself at her side. His sister, Mrs. Arthurs, 
together with Rushmore and the Graybills, paused before 
the sofa on which was seated the cloud-like apparition in 
whom Theo was far more interested than in the exquisite 
Colwell. She replied very absently to his devoted atten- 


132 


THEO WADDINGTON 


tions, while she watched the little scene around the 
sofa. 

*^You look so tired, Isabel,” Mrs. Graybill said, sympa- 
thetically. “I think you are scarcely strong enough for 
the exertion of evening parties.” 

‘‘How observant you are, dear Mrs. Graybill. There 
are some eyes which never notice how weak I grow,” she 
languidly responded, casting a reproachful glance upon 
Rushmore. She leaned back on the sofa and half-closed 
her blue eyes. Her face looked almost transparent now 
in its whiteness, but it was very beautiful. Theo sought 
Rushmore’s face to see him express some concern for 
this pale, weary little woman, worn out with the evening’s 
labor of making herself fascinating ; but he seemed to 
avoid looking at her, and kept his eyes resolutely turned 
the other way. 

“My dear,” Mrs. Graybill continued, “you really ought 
not to go to so many evening parties. Why do you.^” 

“To drown care, dear Mrs. Graybill. I go out into 
society to drown care.” 

“Why, you poor, dear child ! ” laughed Mrs. Arthurs, 
“what cares do you have.?” 

“ I have nothing but cares, dear Mrs. Arthurs, as you 
would discover if you lived with me for one week ! ” 

“Why, how perfectful dreadful! You must employ 
Dr. Southdown. I found him excellent when I had ner- 
vous prostration.” 

“I do not refer to my physical sufferings, dear Mrs. 
Arthurs. They are bad enough, I own. But my mental 
sufferings are far worse.” 

“Why, how odd, dear! Is Mr. Rushmore a perfect 
ogre .? ” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


133 


Rushmore turned slowly and fixed his eyes upon the 
pale face on the sofa as he said carelessly, “Tell your 
friends, Isabel, what a Bluebeard I am. They will be 
entertained. And Graybill will have an article for his 
daily to-morrow.” 

A rather unpleasant silence followed this little out- 
break. Isabel pouted and looked injured. Rushmore’s 
countenance remained cold and quite indifferent. Mrs. 
Arthurs’ bright eyes sparkled with curiosity. 

But awkward pauses were never of long duration where 
Mrs. Graybill was. She gracefully broke the embarrass- 
ing stillness by saying to Rushmore — 

“You ought not to allow this delicate little creature to 
go out so much on these cold winter evenings. You 
men are so stupid and unobservant ; can’t you see that 
it is too much for her ” 

“ Isabel is not in the habit of asking my permission to 
go out of ah evening,” he said, with a little ironical 
laugh. 

“Well, do you really mean to say that you can’t man- 
age that tiny thing — you great, strong man.^” demanded 
Mrs. Arthurs. “You, whom my husband tells me can 
manage the most implacable of men ?” 

“ I fear I must confess my weakness in this case.” 

“Come, Isabel,” interrupted Mrs. Graybill, fearing 
another embarrassing turn of the conversation. “You 
are worn out. We are going now. Are not you coming, 
too.?” 

“I can’t go until Horace is ready,” she said pettishly. 
“I am waiting his pleasure.” 

“Isabel,” Rushmore said, quietly, “you told me some 
time ago that you would let me know when you were 


134 


THEO WADDINGTON 


ready to go home. I’ve been waiting patiently for your 
signal ever since. I didn’t want to annoy you again by 
proposing to leave before you were quite ready.” 

He stepped to a table at the side of the room whereon 
were decanters and wine-glasses, and pouring out a glass 
of champagne, he picked it up and carried it to the sofa. 

Mr. and Mrs. Graybill and Mrs. Arthurs had walked 
away, but Theo still remained close by with Mr. Colwell. 

Rushmore bent toward Isabel and offered her the glass. 
He spoke to her now with a courtesy and a gentleness 
that had been lacking in his manner while others were 
listening to him. 

“Take it. You do look tired. Drink it, and you will 
feel stronger.” 

The fact was, if it had not been for Mrs. Rushmore’s 
open publication of their conjugal infelicity, the world 
would never have known of it through her husband. He 
would proudly have resented any imputation even from 
his closest friends, that they were not perfectly happy, 
and that he loved his wife. But it was quite in keeping 
with the perversity of his nature to meet her unreserved 
revelation of their uncongeniality by abandoning, on his 
part, all attempt at concealment. 

Just now, instead of accepting his conciliatory offer of 
the wine, she pushed it away with a pout. “You need 
not try to reconcile me. You have treated me cruelly 
this evening and I shall not forgive you.” 

He turned from her without speaking and carried the 
glass back to the table. Then returning to her side, he 
bent over her again and said, gravely. “You must let 
me help you up-stairs now. Take my arm and lean on 
me.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


135 


Oh, you are really ready at last, are you, to take me 
home?” she said, mockingly. 

He turned his black eyes full upon her face. 

“Come, Isabel,” he said, in the same quiet, grave voice. 
Something in that look and tone controlled her. With- 
out further demur she laid her small hand on his big, 
black sleeve, and allowed him to assist her out of the 
room. 

As they disappeared through the door, Colwell said, 
“ Rushmore is remarkably patient with that sickly little 
wife of his7’ 

Theo started. “ Wife ? ” she repeated. “ Is. that woman 
Mr. Horace Rushmore’s wife?” 

“Yes; and she leads him a torment of a life, as anyone 
may see. Rushmore’s so awfully clever and intellectual 
and all that sort of thing, don’t you know — and Mrs. 
Rushmore must, of course, be a trial to him, for she isn’t 
any too strong-minded — a little silly, don’t you know. 
At least, that is what people say. I always find her very 
congenial.” 

“IVe no doubt,” Theo could not resist' saying; and 
then, abruptly excusing herself, she left him and followed 
Mrs. Graybill up-stairs to the dressing-room. 

A little later they all came down again, enveloped in 
their long, fur-trimmed evening wraps and dainty head- 
gear, carrying their silk bags on their arms and holding 
up their elaborate trains. 

What a change it seemed to Theo to step from that 
hot, brilliantly-lighted house with the noise of music still 
in her ears, the dazzling sparkle of jewels still in her eyes, 
the odor of champagne yet in her nostrils — out into the 
clear, cold, starlit night ! She looked up into the calm 


136 


THEO WADDINGTON 


heavens, as she stood on the wide marble steps in front 
of the mansion, and she thought they seemed to look 
reproachfully upon her. How hideous seemed the self- 
ishness, pride and artificiality of the scene she had left, 
before that pure and silent judgment which looked down 
upon her from the stars. Nature’s holiness rebuked fash- 
ion’s vanity. She shivered and drew her cloak closer 
about her, as she withdrew her eyes from the blue expanse 
above her. 

Just as she was about to step into Mrs. Graybill’s car- 
riage, she saw walking across the pavement, a large, 
broad-shouldered man. She paused with her foot on the 
step and her heart leapt up in her bosom; for the man 
looked like her father, and for a moment she was startled 
into a sort of terror of him — the old, childish fear which 
she used to feel when detected by him in any wrong- 
doing. She discovered her mistake almost immediately, 
but the shock of this momentary delusion did not soon 
leave her. During many days it remained with her as 
food for thought. 

When she had seated herself in the carriage at Mrs. 
Graybill’s side and just as Mr. Gray bill was about to get 
in, he was detained a moment by Rushmore, who had 
hastened from the house to speak to him. 

As the young lawyer stood on the snow-covered pave- 
ment, clad in his long, black overcoat, with one gloved 
hand thrust as usual between the buttons, Theo, leaning 
back in her softly-cushioned seat, watched the pale, stern 
face, unsoftened by the cold starlight, and felt a pang of 
pity for that frail little woman whom he held at his mercy. 

“To be married to a man of such strength and have 
him hate his bondage — how dreadful!” she thought. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


137 


‘'But he is tender and patient with her,” added her just 
judgment, “and, perhaps, he is more to be pitied than 
she. Oh, I seem to pity everybody in this strange, new 
life!” 

And again she shivered and drew her cloak closer 
around her. 

In a moment Graybill thrust his head into the carriage 
and spoke to his wife. 

“ Rushmore’s carriage has not arrived, Violet. We can 
make room for him and Mrs. Rushmore in ours, can’t 
we ? ” 

“We shall be delighted,” Mrs. Graybill responded, 
leaning out of the carriage door and speaking to Rush- 
more. “Bring Isabel right out, Mr. Rushmore, and we 
shall drop you both at your own house.” 

“Thank you.” Rushmore rapidly mounted the steps 
again and disappeared within the great doorway. 

A moment later he came out with the frail burden 
leaning on his strong arm. He moved slowly now, and 
cautiously picked his way over the snow-covered pave- 
ment. Arrived at the carriage door he lifted her in and 
carefully tucked the robes about her lap and feet. Then 
getting into the carriage beside her, he closed the door, 
and Mr. Graybill gave the order to the driver. The car- 
riage was a wide, commodious affair and the seat opposite 
Mr. and Mrs. Rushmore was not at all crowded with 
Theo and Mr. and Mrs. Graybill in it. 

“ Haven’t you had a beautiful time, Isabel } ” Mrs. 
Graybill asked, brightly. Her spirits seemed never to 
flagg — not even after a long evening at a dancing-party. 

“Perfectly beautiful!” Isabel languidly responded. 
“ Mr. Colwell docs give such pretty parties.” 


138 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“What did you think of it, Theo?” Mrs. Graybill 
asked, turning to her cousin, who leaned far back among 
the luxurious cushions of the carriage, pale and silent. 

“I was interested.” 

“ Interested In whom Our host.^” Mrs. Graybill 
playfully asked. 

“No. He is very uninteresting to me.” 

It was no slight novelty to Rushmore to observe how 
Miss Waddington’s opinion of the young heir was entirely 
unbiased by his wealth. He looked at her curiously. 
She was very -beautiful and graceful now, as she leaned 
back among the crimson cushions, her long, fur-trimmed 
robe sweeping the floor of the carriage, her gloved hands 
clasped in her lap, and her dark eyes shining with a 
warm, drowsy light, from out her pale face. 

“But tell me, Theo,” Mrs. Graybill persisted, “didn’t 
you like the party very much } ” 

“You know. Cousin Violet, social roles are not very 
much to my taste.” 

“Why, how very much like Horace that sounds!” 
chirped little Mrs. Rushmore. “ He doesn’t like society, 
either, and never would go to a single party in this world 
if I didn’t make him take me. I couldn’t live without 
parties I Why, how should I fill in the time Horace, 
you ought to be married to a girl like Miss Waddington, 
instead of to a society butterfly like me. Come now, 
ought you not ? ” 

“She would make me go to church. You make me go 
parties. I don’t know which of the two pastimes is more 
intolerable. But, I am afraid if I found myself married 
to a religious person, the divorce courts would soon have 
another case to try. I couldn’t stand it.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


139 


“You don’t imagine, Mr. Rushmore, that any religious 
devotee would marry such a heathen as you, do you?” 
inquired Mrs. Graybill. 

“ People never know what they are marrying. Didn’t 
you and your husband learn to know each other only 
after you had been married six months or more? And 
were you each not astonished to find the other so very 
different from the creature you thought you had married ? 
Marriage is always a leap in the dark.” 

“What an original remark, Mr. Rushmore! Of course, 
all we old married people know that marriage is not in 
reality what it appears to be to those outside the circle. 
Now how does it strike you, Theo ? ” 

Theo roused herself to reply. 

“The married life of my parents has been one long 
romance, but I can’t help thinking there are few such 
perfect marriages as theirs. It is because people marry 
from the wrong motives.” 

“ What is the right motive, pray ? ” Rushmore quickly 
asked. 

“Unless two persons feel an inward necessity for union 
I think it is sinful for them to marry.” 

“True. The only proper reason for marriage is intel- 
lectual congeniality.” 

A strange remark, Theo thought, for a man to make in 
the presence of a wife anyone might see was not only 
intellectually inferior to the brilliant husband by her side, 
but who was not even blessed with the usual amount 
of mother-wit necessary to pass well in respectable soci- 
ety. Perhaps, however, it was this very lack in her 
which made him feel so keenly their conjugal infelicity. 
This conversation had hardly passed when they drew 


140 


THEO WADDINGTON 


up before Rushmore’s home — a handsome, brown-stone 
residence. 

Every window was darkened save one ; a bright light 
burned in a room of the second story. Rushmore ’s 
quick eye noticed it at once. 

“Lucy must be awake,” he said hastily, as he pushed 
open the carriage door. 

“ How tiresome ! ” murmured Mrs. Rushmore. “I do 
hope she won’t be crying when I go up-stairs ; for I’m too 
tired and nervous to-night to bear it. Children are so 
trying, are they not, dear Mrs. Graybill.^” 

Mrs. Graybill was spared the necessity of replying, as 
Rushmore had now stepped upon the pavement, and was 
extending his hand to his wife to assist her from the 
carriage. His face had suddenly grown white and stern, 
and his lips were compressed as though the light burden 
which his strong arms lifted from the carriage were all 
too heavy for his endurance. 

Mrs. Graybill leaned forward and spoke to him. “I 
hope Lucy is not ill ? ” 

“She was ailing when we left the house this evening,” 
he said, shortly ; and as he spoke, Theo, whose eyes were 
fastened upon that one bright window of the great, dark 
house, suddenly saw a tiny, white-robed figure appear 
before it. The little one pressed her forehead against 
the glass and peered down into the street. 

Mr. and Mrs. Rushmore bade the Graybills and Miss 
Waddington good-night; then the carriage door was 
closed again and the heavy equipage rolled away. 

An hour later, when the midnight was waning into 
the wee, small morning hours, Theo sat in a great easy- 
chair before the glowing fire in her bed-chamber. Her 


T//EO JVADDINGTON 


141 


maid had put away her evening’s finery, and she was now 
comfortably robed in a long, loose bedroom-gown of 
white surah silk, a gift of her Cousin Violet. Her 
brown hair was hanging over her shoulders in a thick 
plait, the end lying curled in her lap. Her head rested 
against the back of her chair ; her hands were clasped in 
her lap ; her slippered feet pressed the fender of the fire. 

In her mind she was comparing the Mr. Rushmore she 
had known in her childhood with the cold, proud, cynical 
man she had again so unpleasantly encountered. 

‘‘ Was it his disappointment in his marriage that made 
him become so ” she wondered. “ Could not so strong 
a mind as his rise above that one mistake of his life.^ 
Was he not brave enough to rally his powers anew after 
his one defeat } He had in him the making of a noble 
man. Why has he turned out such a failure } I have 
not much respect for a character which has not force 
enough to rise above mere external circumstances. I 
have in me too much of the stoicism of Marcus Aurelius 
(heathen though he was) to feel much toleration for such 
weakness.” 

She could not help feeling that perhaps down deep in 
his heart, he still remained unspoiled, and that his cyni- 
cism, his mockery, his hardness were, after all, only sur- 
face irritations. 

“ If he could but become a Christian ! ” she said to her- 
self. But in her heart she realized the absolute impossi- 
bility of the submission of that free intellect to the guid- 
ance of the Christian teachings. Only half acknowledged 
to herself was her own constant repression of the sugges- 
tions and convictions which she dared not honestly face. 


142 


THEO WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER IV 


''WO weeks passed by — two weeks which seemed to 



i- Theo like as many days, so fast they flew, and so 
filled they were with social festivities of all sorts. Her 
life at her cousin’s was one continual round of gayety. 

During this time she was constantly meeting the all- 
popular and omnipresent Colwell, without whom no party 
seemed complete. He was most assiduous in his atten- 
tions to her whenever they met — much to her own 
weariness and the jealousy of many marriageable young 
ladies in the market. At a musical which he gave at 
his home, it was remarked that he never once left her 
side during the whole evening. The newspapers, which 
kept the public constantly informed of his movements, 
hinted at the awful possibility of his infatuation with the 
handsome young lady who was visiting Mrs. Graybill. 

One evening he succeeded in persuading her to go to 
a theatre with him — a thing which Mrs. Graybill had, 
for a long time, failed to make her do. Theo said that 
her only reason for going was that she might see for her- 
self what wickedness there really was in this worldly 
pleasure which she had all her life heard denounced so 
severely. But when, upon her return, she impulsively 
declared, in a burst of enthusiasm, that she should love 
to be an actress, or at least a writer of plays, her cousin 
felt quite encouraged to hope that perhaps in time she 


THEO WADDINGTON 


148 


would be quite converted from her inconvenient Puritan 
ideas. 

“To-night, for the first time in a long while,” Theo 
said as, after the theatre, she and Mrs. Graybill sat 
together in the former’s dressing-room, talking it over, 
“I have been perfectly happy.” 

“And you don’t think it wicked.^” 

“No. I don’t know. I can’t help being fascinated by 
it. I am hungry for more of it.” 

Her eyes were very bright as she spoke and her face 
was unusually flushed. 

“Is this enthusiasm all for the play.?” Mrs. Graybill 
asked, looking at her suggestively; “and none for your 
fascinating young escort .? ” 

“The only thing which marred my perfect pleasure 
was that Mr. Colwell would insist upon talking to me 
while the play was going on — until I requested^ him not 
to.” 

“Theo, don’t you like him at all.?” 

“I have tried to,” she said, a little anxiously, “because 
he seems to have taken an odd fancy to me. But, Cousin 
Violet, if only he were a little sensible ! And if only he 
would not take the trouble to be affected ! ” 

The look in Theo’s eyes was almost piteous as she said 
this, and Mrs. Graybill laughed at her merrily. 

“Why, Theo, even under the most trying circumstan- 
ces he does not throw off those manners of his. I saw 
him once when he was very sea-sick, and even then he 
*took the trouble to be affected’, as you express it.” 

“ I suppose,” said Theo, gravely, and with a touch of 
compassion, “poor Mr. Colwell can’t help being a — a 
fool.” 


144 


THEO WADDING TON 


This remark Mrs. Graybill seemed to find convulsively 
amusing. She swayed to and fro and wiped her eyes in 
the excess of her emotion. 

‘‘You are so unsophisticated!” she murmured when 
she could finally find breath to speak. “Although you 
are only a poor, country damsel, yet you are absolutely 
unmoved by that man’s great wealth and influential posi- 
tion. I believe you are not in the least tempted by these 
things.” 

“Tempted by them I ” She could not understand her 
cousin. 

Mrs. Graybill looked at her strangely. “Can it be,” 
she thought, “that she really has no idea that Colwell is 
very much smitten with her.^ Has she actually never 
thought of such a thing } Has the girl no worldly ambi- 
tion whatever.^” 

But she was too politic to suggest to Theo her own 
ideas as to the “odd fancy” which the young nabob 
seemed to have taken to her. She thought her wiser 
course would be to leave that for future developments to 
reveal. 

One afternoon Theo was sitting alone in a quaintly- 
furnished sitting-room which was used by Mrs. Graybill 
for the reception of informal or morning callers. In com- 
parison with most of the other rooms of the house, this 
sitting-room was rather small and plain ; but in itself it 
was both spacious and luxurious. 

Theo had been, for the past half hour, receiving a few 
stray visitors alone, as her cousin had been occupied and 
had been unable to come down-stairs. 

The interval between the departure and arrival of call- 
ers, on this afternoon, had been extremely short — all too 


THEO WADDING TON 


145 


short, in Theo’s estimation. She had been alone but a 
few moments and now another visitor was ushered in. 

She was surprised at herself for the start she experi- 
enced upon discovering this new comer to be none other 
than Mr. Rushmore, whom she had not seen since the 
night of Mr. Colwell’s dancing-party. But her moment- 
ary agitation was quickly put down. She rose to greet 
him as he stepped toward her across the room, and her 
manner was cold and self-possessed as she gave him her 
hand. She had heard him inquire for Mrs. Graybill and 
she knew he had neither expected nor desired to see her. 
She determined that she would not inflict herself upon 
him. When she seated herself again, she chose a chair 
beside a rather distant window, just as far removed from 
him as politeness would allow, and at once bent her eyes 
upon some fancy work with which she had been occupied 
before he came in. She told herself that she did not like 
him, and she knew in her heart that she dreaded him — 
dreaded those fearful doubts which his mockery of the 
religion she loved aroused in her mind. 

“I am sorry Cousin Violet is detained up-stairs,” she 
said, without looking up. ^'But if you have time to wait, 
she will be able to come down in about ten minutes, I 
think.” 

“I am anxious to see her — I shall wait.” 

He settled himself comfortably in his easy-chair and 
picked up a magazine from a table, close by. He saw 
that Miss Waddington evidently wished to avoid talking 
with him. Her feelings in this respect quite coincided 
with his own. A tete-a-tete with the fair Puritan would 
not have been at all to his taste. As has before been 
stated in this narrative, Horace Rushmore usually ignored 


149 


THEO WADDINGTON 


conventionalities when it did not suit his convenience to 
observe them. So now he made not the least effort to 
perform the well-bred formality of keeping up a conversa- 
tion with Mrs. Graybill’s cousin. So long as she showed 
no special inclination to talk with him, he would not 
trouble himself. At any rate what could they possibly 
talk about ? They had probably not a single idea in com- 
mon. To be sure, he had many a time before held very 
diverting chats with women with whom he had had no 
ideas in common; but they had been of the light and 
frivolous sort and not of the funereal solemnity which 
characterized Miss Waddington. If there was one thing 
above another which he disliked, it was a bigoted, opin- 
ionated woman. 

So he carelessly ignored her presence, as he sat turn- 
ing over the leaves of the magazine, and idly glancing at 
the topics which headed the pages. 

Yet he was surprised to find what a vivid conscious- 
ness he had of that quiet presence beside yonder window. 
His eyes kept persistently wandering from the magazine 
on his knee to the corner where she sat bending over her 
embroidery. 

Her appearance this afternoon was not so startling as 
it had been on that night of Colwell’s party. She looked 
not at all like a fashionable worldling now, for she was 
dressed very simply in a plain, close-fitting gown of pale- 
gray cashmere, without trimmings or ornament. She 
seemed to-day more as she had on that Sunday afternoon 
when he had first seen her, a unique and unsophisticated 
creature, very much out of her element in the midst of 
the frivolous, worldly life of Mrs. Graybill’s household. 

He found himself, after awhile, anxiously interested in 


THEO WADDINGTON 


147 


watching the movements of her strong, supple fingers, as 
she plied her needle. The hands were not small, but they 
were white and beautifully shaped, and there was a sug- 
gestion of latent strength in their graceful action. 

As he watched them a strange feeling came over him, 
a conviction that there was in those firm, substantial 
hands an odd familiarity to his eyes. He thought the 
idea rather absurd, but he could not put it from him. 
Where had he seen hands like those before ? Why did 
they seem so familiar to him ? 

He looked up at her face, for he remembered that that, 
too, had struck him as being familiar the first time he had 
seen it, although the impression had quickly worn away. 
He was startled now as he caught an expression about 
the sensitive mouth which seemed as well known to him 
as the face of his own little daughter, or of his wife. 
What could it mean ? He bent forward slightly and 
looked at her more closely. She glanced up, and as she 
met his eye she blushed a little and quickly turned her 
attention again to her work. 

It was then, at this moment, that, like a flash, he real- 
ized who she was. 

Little Theo, his prim little neighbor in York ! The 
daughter of that bigoted, Calvinistic preacher. Dr. Wad- 
dington, whom he remembered perfectly! How strange 
that he had not thought of it before. But who would 
have dreamed of that sallow little girl turning out to be 
such a fine-looking woman as this ? Did she remember 
him } No, that was scarcely possible. He, however, 
could clearly recall her as she had been eight years ago — 
a quaint, interesting child, very precocious and amusingly 
honest. She should have grown to be as fine a woman. 


148 


THEO WADDINGTON 


mentally and morally, as she was physically. But no 
doubt she had been cramped and dwarfed and frozen out 
by Calvinistic teachings and strict parental discipline. 
He felt an inclination to smile at the recollection of his 
ponderous, clerical neighbor who had been wont to carry 
about with him an air of Head-of-His-House as well as of 
ministerial benediction. He understood now why Miss 
Waddington’s hands looked so familiar to him — they 
were the exact counterpart of her father’s ; and many a 
time had Rushmore in observing the fine gestures of the 
eloquent Dr. Waddington, admired the strong, substantial 
hands which he effectively wielded in emphasizing the 
doctrine he taught. And as he continued to watch 
Theo’s needle moving in and out pf her embroidery he 
felt sure that he saw in her firm, well-shaped fingers, 
something of her father’s relentless decision. He won- 
dered if her disposition were really anything like his. 

“She is like him,” he told himself, “in some respects. 
She has his determination and his devotion to duty ; but 
she lacks the tenderness of his nature. She is an icicle.” 

Just here, Theo again raised her eyes, for she felt his 
scrutiny. 

How changed appeared the expression of her marble, 
statue-like face, when her eyes were uplifted. Those 
warm, drowsy eyes seemed to hold under control all the 
minor features of her face, and entirely to transform her 
countenance. It no longer looked cold and chilling, but 
full of sensibility and tenderness. 

He felt a sudden desire to speak to her. His dis- 
covery that she was his one-time little friend and neigh- 
bor of York invested her with a new and peculiar interest 
in his eyes. He rose abruptly and strode to her side. A 


THEO WADDINGTON 


149 


large red-leather chair stood in front of her. He pushed 
it a trifle nearer and seated himself in it. Leaniifg his 
elbows upon the arm of it and resting his cheek against 
his fingers, he watched her as she continued to bend 
over her embroidery, coolly ignoring his now closer 
proximity. 

*‘Do you enjoy doing that } ” 

She let her hands fall into her lap and looked up at 
him. 

»No.” 

“Most women are very fond of it.” 

“I know it,” she said, slowly. 

“If you are not, why do you do it } ” 

She looked down into her lap and again took into her 
hands the dainty silk and floss. He felt half sorry to 
have those clear eyes turned away from him. It was 
not an uninteresting study to contemplate in them, the 
odd and rather charming combination of the child and 
the woman which he thought he recognized in their inno- 
cence and seriousness. 

“Shall I really tell you why I do it ” she asked, as 
she carefully pushed her needle through the silk pansy 
she was forming. 

“I admit I have some curiosity to know.” 

“Cousin Violet thinks my awkwardness and silence in 
company can be somewhat covered by my being occupied 
with fancy work. That is why I do it — she wishes me 
to,” she added, simply, and without the slightest change 
in the grave expression of her face. 

“Well,” thought Mr. Rushmore, “such absolute unso- 
phisticatedness it has never been my lot to encounter 
before/' 


150 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“I think,” she continued, “of Mrs. Browning’s verses 
in ‘ Aurora Leigh ’, whenever I take up this foolish 
labor — 

“ ‘ The works of women are symbolical ; 

We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight. 

Producing what A pair ef slippers, sir, 

To put on when you’re weary — or a stool 
To tumble over and vex you — ‘ curse that stool ! ’ 

Or else, at best, a cushion where you lean 
And sleep, and dream of something we are not. 

But would be for your sake. Alas, alas ! 

This hurts most, this — that after all, we are paid 
The worth of our work, perhaps.’ ” 

“You and Mrs. Browning are traitors to your sex thus 
to denounce this essentially feminine occupation,” he said, 
touching with his fingers the work in her hands. “ Do 
you have as great a contempt for your sex in other mat- 
ters, as in this matter of fancy work V' 

“It is not contempt that I feel — it is pity.” 

“Contempt is often the outgrowth of pity. If you 
remain in New York much longer, you will become a 
cynic.” 

“I hope not,” she said, quickly. “Cynicism is usually 
the off-spring of bad digestion or some other deformity. 
The cynic sees but a small arc in the great circumference 
of truth.” 

He felt she was giving him a sly thrust in this well- 
turned remark. It astonished him to be called narrow- 
minded by a bigoted young Presbyterian. But the direct- 
ness and candor of her manner and speech, so absolutely 
free from studied and self-conscious affectation, he really 
found very refreshing. 

“The cynic sees,” he replied, “what slaves men are of 


THEO WADDINGTON 


151 


convention and of the past. Why can’t we shake it all 
off,” he earnestly added, “and stand forth free and alone, 
boldly living out a true manhood, absolutely untouched by 
lying custom. Few men,” he continued, gloomily, “are 
so broad-minded as to pay homage to nothing save truth. 
Everywhere, in all men, even in the most learned, I find 
some leaning of courtesy, and I cannot trust them. The 
free spirits of the world — how many have they been.^^ 
You may count them on your fingers.” 

She glanced up at him and he was struck by the look 
on her face. There was in her eyes a glow of sympathy 
for the thought he had uttered, and an expression as of 
the secret hunger for liberty in the heart of a captive. 

“The life you are leading here,” he went on, watching 
her curiously, “is a great change from that to which you 
have been accustomed in your home, is it not ? ” 

“Very.” 

“Do you find it pleasant or otherwise.^” 

“ I find it most interesting. Much of it is very delight- 
ful. But,” she said, a slight color coming into her 
cheeks, “I see much that pains me.” 

“ For instance } ” 

She hesitated a moment, letting her hands rest idly in 
her lap. Then looking at him gravely, she said, “ I am a 
Christian. These people among whom I am now living 
are not Christians.” 

“Neither are you a Christian,” he replied. “Christ’s 
teachings are nowhere followed in our day. If they were 
we should have no civilization. ‘ Sell all thou hast and 
give it to the poor.’ ‘Take no thought for the morrow,’ 
and so forth. If these commands were carried out, where 
would be our civilization ? ” 


152 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“That is idle. You have become a victim of ‘cun- 
ningly devised fables and the sophistries of men she 
said in a tone so exactly like that which Rushmore well 
remembered her father once to have used when praying 
for him as a misguided dupe of fables and sophistries, that 
he could not help smiling. He felt a sudden curiosity to 
know if she had any recollection of those days when he 
had been her opposite neighbor in York. He thought he 
would test her. 

“ Do you know, Miss Waddington, there is something 
strangely familiar to me in your face } Did I ever meet 
you any where before ” 

“You expect my memory of such an event to be better 
than your own } That is not flattering.” 

“ Miss Waddington, you are learning to use small 
talk,” he said, thinking within himself that she evidently 
had long since forgotten her former acquaintance with 
him. The question which she the next moment asked of 
him confirmed this opinion. 

“How did you know, Mr. Rushmore, that my life at 
home was so different from this } Has Cousin Violet 
spoken of my family to you } ” 

“Yes. She told me you had always lived in a very 
quiet way.” 

Theo smiled, as she responded, “You who live here in 
the noise and bustle and excitement of New York, can 
have no idea how quiet my life at home is.” 

“You will miss the gayety and excitement when you go 
home, won’t you } ” 

“I don’t know — I often feel very homesick to see 
mother and father and all the rest. They are all the 
society I have at home. I have not even a single inti- 


THEO IVADDIETCTON 


158 


mate friend outside of my home. I never did make any 
bosom friendships as my sisters did, although once I 
almost made one, and ” — 

She stopped short and blushed quite red, much to 
Rushmore’s mystification. Theo herself scarcely under- 
stood the instinct which checked her from recalling to 
his mind his former little friend. 

“You ought to have a bosom friend,” he said, abruptly. 
“Bacon says truly, in his quaint, old-fashioned English, 
‘A principal fruit of friendships is the ease and discharge 
of the fullness and swellings of the heart which passions 
of all kinds do cause and induce. We know diseases of 
stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in the 
body and it is not much otherwise in the mind.’ Have 
you read any of Bacon } ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Most young ladies in answering that, or any similar 
question, would immediately .and gratuitously favor me 
with their opinion of the author in question ; they would 
say, ‘Oh, yes. I’ve read him; and isn’t he just too per- 
fectly dear for anything.^ So much like our own dear 
Emerson ! ’ and so forth. Miss Waddington, your lack 
of enthusiasm is positively callous.” 

Theo was spared the necessity of replying to this 
remark, for at this moment Mr. Colwell was shown into 
the room and she was compelled to put down her work 
and rise to meet him. 

“ So pleased to find you in. Miss Waddington ! ” 
exclaimed that ardent young man in a manner so like 
that which Mr. Rushmore had just been affecting in imi- 
tation of the typical society young lady, that Theo could 
with difficulty maintain her gravity. “ Perfectly charmed 


154 


THEO WADDINGTON 


really, to find that you have not gone out to ride or any- 
thing of that sort, don’t you know. How perfectly sweet 
and cosy you look in this dear, pretty room. Why, Rush- 
more, I had no idea of finding you here ! How could you 
manage to spare the time } Doesn’t that Maybrook case 
come up in court to-morrow } ” 

Mrs. Graybill now entered the room, and after a few 
moments’ chat with her, Rushmore took his leave. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


165 


CHAPTER V 

Y OU will be at home in time to help me receive 
to-night, will you not, Horace?” 

Mrs. Rushmore, from her morning-room, had over- 
heard her husband enter the adjoining nursery to bid his 
little daughter good-by before going down to his office ; 
and she had just made the unusual exertion of rising 
unaided from her easy-chair to follow him in order to put 
to him the above question. 

He had seated himself before the open-grate fire and 
had taken his little girl on his knee. She was a slight, 
pale child with large, dark eyes, a very prominent fore- 
head, and an abundance of light, wavy hair falling about 
her shoulders. She was only five years of age, but her 
face was prematurely old. There was a look of suffer- 
ing about the small, delicate mouth and the little hands 
were very thin and white. Rushmore was holding one 
of them in his own large, strong ones and the child’s 
head rested against his breast very confidingly. 

‘*No, I shall not be home in time to help you receive 
to-night,” he replied, as his wife sat down near him. 

She was as dainty and pretty this morning, in her soft, 
white dressing-gown trimmed with swan’s-down, and with 
her light, curly hair twisted in a large, loose coil low on 
her neck, as she had looked on that evening of Mr. Col- 


156 


THEO WADDINGTON 


well’s party when Theo had mentally compared her deli- 
date beauty to a pink cloud at sunset. 

‘'But, Horace, I can’t receive alone,” she objected; 
“you know perfectly well that I can’t. The invitations 
were sent in both our names. You will have to come 
back in time.” 

He made no reply, but continued to smooth the head 
which leaned against him, as he looked down into the 
little one’s face. 

“You will have to be back in time, Horace,” Mrs. 
Rushmore persisted. 

“ I can’t do it, Isabel.” 

“But I tell you, Horace, I can’t receive alone. I shall 
faint! I shall die! You are perfectly heartless 1 You 
don’t care what happens to me! You know you don’t, 
Horace.” 

There were tears in her voice ; but he took no notice 
of the fact and gravely replied, as before — 

“ I told you very distinctly that if you would persist in 
having your party during the week of the Maybrook trial, 
I could not receive with you. You must now take the 
consequence of your obstinacy.” 

“Obstinacy.? If this is the way I am to be treated — 
to be called obstinate by my own husband ! And when I 
am so ill, too, that I am not fit to be out of bed!” And 
Mrs. Rushmore bent her pretty face down into her hands 
and burst into tears. 

“Then why are you out of bed, Isabel? I’m sure I 
don’t require you to stay up.” 

“To think that you could be so brutal as to taunt your 
sick wife ! ” she sobbed. 

Rushmore looked anxiously at little Lucy. The child’s 


THEO WADDINGTON 


157 


wide-open, dark eyes were filled with a distressed wonder, 
as she watched her weeping mamma. He put her from 
his knee hastily and rose from his chair. 

“Papa must go now, Lucy. My darling, good-by.” 
He put his arm around her, bent down and pressed her 
lips against his own in a long kiss. 

“ Will you be long away, papa ? ” she asked, wistfully. 

“Until late, to-night, dear one. Don’t try to stay 
awake for me.” 

Then he turned to his wife. “Come, Isabel, let me 
lead you to your room. You must rest to-day or you will 
be unable to get through this evening.” 

“You will not care if it kills me!” she said, with a 
hysterical sob. “ If you were not so selfish and cruel 
you would make a little exertion to get home to help me.” 

“ If I should come away from my office before eleven 
o’clock to-night, Isabel, I should lose my case. I told 
you beforehand how it would be if you persisted in send- 
ing out your invitations for to-night instead of waiting, 
but you would not heed me. Now you must abide by 
the consequences. I am sorry not to oblige you,” he 
added, more gently, “but it is impossible.” 

“You are not sorry — you know you are not! You 
only want to punish me for not obeying you as though I 
were your slave — your galley-slave ! ” 

“Isabel, you would make a good lawyer, you are so 
absolutely unreasonable. And now,” he added, glancing 
at his watcb, “I must be off. Good-morning.” 

He picked up his hat and gloves from a chair and 
quickly left the room, glancing back, as he reached the 
door, for a last look at his little daughter who had moved 
away to the most distant corner of the room, where. 


158 


THEO WADDING TON 


seated on a low stool and leaning her cheek on her tiny 
hand, she watched her sobbing mother. 

^ ^ ^ ^ * 

Mrs. Rushmore’s party was at its height. The stifling 
heat of the drawing-rooms was oppressive. The glare of 
the lights and the moving to and fro of the dancers 
caused Theo to feel very dizzy as she watched them. 
The music of the orchestra made a loud din in her ears, 
and the heavy fragrance of the flowers with which the 
apartment was elaborately decorated made her sick and 
faint. She felt a sudden necessity to get away from the 
noise and heat and crowd and go out into the fresh, cool 
air. 

A propitious moment came, and opportunity was given 
her to steal away unobserved. She hurried up-stairs to 
the dressing-room. She always felt it a relief to be alone 
and quiet after the bustle and excitement of a crowded 
dancing-party. 

It was an especial relief just now, for Mr. Colwell had 
been most assiduous in his attentions to her all the even- 
ing, and she was weary from the effort she had been mak- 
ing to be civil to him. 

After she had refreshed herself with a glass of iced- 
water and a breath of pure air, she did not feel at all 
inclined to go down-stairs again. She had, during the 
past week, rather looked forward to this party at the 
Rushmores, but now, somehow she found it disappoint- 
ing. Like most anticipated pleasures, it had not met her 
expectations. She did not definitely state to herself just 
in what particulars it had failed to please her. She 
scarcely knew. 

She discovered in Rushmore’s home no sign of the 


THEO WADDINGTON 


159 


Strong character of its master, which she had expected to 
find stamped upon his household. It was so with nearly 
all the houses which she visited in New York City; they 
were not real homes, but were mere dwelling-places and 
entertainment-halls. They were all more or less alike, in 
a general way, and the individuality of their inmates was 
not at all felt in their equipments. Of all the wide, 
beautifully furnished apartments of this house, only one 
(a glimpse of which she had caught in passing), held any 
real attraction for her — and that was the stately library 
adjoining the dressing-room. It had looked more like a 
living-room than any other in the house. 

Just now, she felt a strong temptation to go into this ^ 
library, and spend a long, quiet hour alone with the 
books. She much preferred this to returning to that 
stifling dancing-room. She had a curiosity to see what 
books Mr. Rushmore possessed and read. She had an 
idea that in this room she would see and feel more of her 
old friend, the law student of York, who had been wont 
to burn the midnight oil in poring over his books, than 
she had yet seen or felt in the cold, cynical young law- 
yer whom she had met just three times since she had 
come to New York. 

She stepped to the library door and looked in. The 
room was empty; but a bright, crackling fire burned in 
the open grate, and a tempting arm-chair was drawn up 
before it. 

Theo knew she was performing an unheard-of and 
scandalous act in abandoning the dancing-room and steal- 
ing off alone to this precious seclusion ; but that troubled 
her very little. 

She walked across the room to the arm-chair which 


1(50 


THEO WAD DING TON 


stoo(d in front of the fire. A volume was lying upon the 
small table which held the lamp. She picked it up and 
looked at it. It was Herbert Spencer’s “Progress; its 
Law and Cause, and Other Essays”. The “other essays” 
were all by Thomas Huxley. She supposed Mr. Rush- 
more had been reading it. She would sit down in this 
easy-chair before the fire and see what it was like. 

She settled herself cosily, turned the lamp a trifle 
higher, and fixed the volume comfortably on her knee. 
Then, for a moment before turning her attention to it, 
she leaned her dark head against the crimson cushioned 
back of her chair and let her thoughts revel in this situa- 
tion of ideal ease and luxury. “This is comfort. This 
is real enjoyment. How glad I am that I am not down 
in that dancing-room ! Oh, why do not these people 
make homes for themselves with their great wealth 
They seem to know nothing of the luxury and happiness 
of a home.” 

And now she gave her attention to her book. She 
found it interesting from the first ; and as she read on 
and on, her interest increased, and so absorbed her mind 
that she became oblivious of everything around her. 
Page after page was read and turned. She was utterly 
unconscious of how the time was flying. She knew and 
felt nothing save the strange, new thoughts which she 
was learning from the great scientist and philosopher. 

Six weeks before she would have considered it sacrile- 
gious to read such a book. But her horizon had, in the 
past month, been steadily widening. Her mind, at first 
recoiling almost in horror from the worldly life into which 
her cousin had brought her had, after the first shock, 
gradually been adjusting itself to its new impressions. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


KJl 


Constantly meeting people whose ways of viewing all 
things were so directly contrary to her own, she had nat- 
urally been led to question the truth of some of her firmly 
established convictions. And to some minds the admis- 
sion of a single doubt makes easy and rapid the road to 
the complete revolution of its preconceived notions. In 
Theo’s case the seeds had fallen on fertile ground and 
her intellect was receiving a strange awakening. 

She did not know how long she had been poring over 
her book, when at last her attention was attracted by a 
sound falling upon the quiet of the room. It broke in 
upon the thoughts that were filling her brain with start- 
ling effect. Yet it was a very faint sound — only a slight 
movement on the floor a few feet away, and a gentle, soft 
sigh. But Theo sat upright and glanced hastily around 
her, as though she had been discovered in some guilt. 
Then, to her astonishment, she saw what before had quite 
escaped her notice. A little girl lay curled up on a rug 
in an angle of the wall, just a few feet from the fire. 
Small wonder that she had not noticed her before, for the 
child’s white night-gown was just the color of the white 
animal skin on which she lay, and her golden hair was 
the exact tint of the panel in the wall. The little one 
was fast asleep with one hand under her flushed cheek 
and the other hanging loosely at her side. 

The face was very like Rushmore’s. Theo gazed at it 
long and earnestly. It was such a wistful little counte- 
nance that it almost made her eyes fill with tears to look 
at it. 

“Poor child!” she murmured, involuntarily. “Poor 
darling ! ” 

If there is any tenderness in one it must be aroused 


162 


THEO WADDINGTON 


by the sight of a little sleeping child ; for there is noth- 
ing so innocent, so appealing. Theo rose, and stepping 
across the floor to the rug in the corner, cautiously 
knelt down at the little one’s side. 

“I wonder how she came here. She will take cold — 
she is so exposed. I must cover her.” 

She drew from her shoulders the white silk wrap which 
she had put on when she had come up from the dancing- 
room. She laid it over the little girl’s bare feet, and 
turned the cape of it up over her shoulders. Then a sud- 
den temptation came to her. “ I should like to hold her 
in my arms, ” she told herself, as she looked with a hun- 
gry yearning at the child’s heaving bosom and flushed 
face. It was necessary to Theo’s nature to pour out love 
upon something, and this little thing seemed the first 
really lovable object she had seen since she had come 
away from her home. She longed to fold it to her 
bosom. 

“I wonder if I can pick her up without waking her. I 
think I shall try.” 

Her young arms were strong and her hands were very 
gentle. She carefully lifted the tiny burden, and pil- 
lowed its head upon her breast. It nestled against her 
confidingly, and Theo felt a strange delight swell up in 
her heart, as her bare arms clasped the small figure. 

She rose from her knees and slowly walked back to 
her chair before the open grate. 

An interesting picture they made as they sat there — 
the beautiful woman in her party costume of rich white 
silk, with the golden head of the slumbering child resting 
just below her white chest, and her fair arms clasped 
about the soft, warm bundle. She bent her dark head 


THEO WADDINGTON 


1G:^ 


low over the little one’s face and softly kissed its warm 
lips and its curls. 

“I wonder if her father is fond of her.^” she said to 
herself. The mental impulse which followed the ques- 
tion was immediate. “Poor little one,” was the compas- 
sionate utterance of her heart. “Poor little one, to be 
brought up in a home like this ! ” For Theo felt that its 
atmosphere must necessarily be dreary and loveless. 

As in her absorbing interest in her book, she had been 
unconscious of the flight of time, so in her pleasure over 
this child, she was oblivious of all else. It made her per- 
fectly happy to lean back in her comfortable easy-chair 
before the grateful blaze, and look down upon the baby- 
face resting on her heart. 

But her pleasant revery was at last broken. An 
uneasy feeling suddenly caused her to raise her eyes, 
involuntarily, from the little girl’s face, and look toward 
the door of the room, which was at right angles with the 
fire. 

Her cheeks flushed crimson as her eye met that of 
Mr. Rushmore who, with folded arms, stood upon the 
threshold coolly contemplating her. “How long had 
he been there,” she wondered, feeling her face tingle. 
“And what would he think of her for having explored his 
private library, uninvited ” 

' Rushmore, seeing that he was discovered, unfolded his 
arms, clasped them behind him, and walked slowly into 
the room. 

He was in his ordinary office dress. He looked weary 
and harassed. He had not appeared at the party that 
evening. Unacknowledged to herself had been Theo’s 
slight disappointment at that fact. 


104 


THEO WADDINGTON 


He paused beside her chair and looked down upon her 
and the child in her arms. She had composed herself by 
this time, and had decided not to apologize for her pres- 
ence in the room unless he demanded an explanation. 

Overlooking the formality of bidding her good-evening, 
he asked in a low voice that he might not disturb the 
child — 

“ How did you come here } ” 

“ I grew tired of the party and came here to rest and 
read,” she said, looking up at him. 

“ ‘ Grew tired of the party he repeated. “ No wonjan 
could possibly prefer the solitude of this room to that gay 
assemblage down-stairs. Why did you grow tired of the 
party } Has Mr. Colwell become cold to you ? ” 

“No. If he only would!” she said, so earnestly that 
he could scarcely doubt her sincerity. 

“You did not like the party to-night.^ ” he asked. 

“I have said I grew tired of it. And so I came here 
to read.” 

“And you found Lucy here.?” 

“Yes; lying fast asleep on that rug in the corner.” 

“You two make a very interesting picture.” 

“ So it would seem ; how long were you watching us .? ” 

“ I arrived at that door just about the time you discov- 
ered Lucy on the floor. You appear to be fond of chil- 
dren .? ” he asked, looking at her keenly. 

“Yes.” 

“Usually when I ask a woman that question, she tells 
me she ‘perfectly dotes on them’, or something to that 
effect. But your simple ‘yes’ is eloquent with meaning. 
Most women mean far less than they say. I know you 
mean more. I find your straight-forward, simple manner 


THEO WADDINGTON 


165 


of expression as refreshing as a stream of cold water in 
a desert.” 

“Are you fond of children.?” she asked him. 

“Of this little one, yes,” he said, touching the child’s 
hair gently. “My -love for this little daughter is the 
only thing which vitally holds me to life. It is only 
when I bend over her that I can see any blessedness, any 
meaning in my life. And even then, thoughts come into 
my heart which mingle a bitterness with the sweetness. 
Why did I bring into the world a little being who can 
only struggle, suffer, err — and then die. Why — unless 
selfishly to purchase a drop of pure happiness for myself, 
in her existence.” 

“God must feel so sometimes about the works he has 
created,” she said, with a child-like simplicity that made 
him smile. 

He had no reply to make to this. He picked up the 
book which she had laid aside, when she had risen from 
her chair to go to Lucy. 

“Is this what you were reading, just before I came 
in .?” 

“Yes. May I take it home with me.?” 

“Certainly. But it is full of heresy. Beware, beware. 
Miss Waddington. The preachers, you know, are fond of 
calling Herbert Spencer and Thomas Huxley very severe 
names — such as ‘infidel’, ‘atheist’, and the like — epi- 
thets which Dr. Holmes says are fast going out of use 
except by. the intellectual half-breeds who sometimes find 
their way into the pulpit, or into religious periodicals.” 

“I am very much interested in the book,” she said, her 
face flushing painfully. “It hurts me to read it, but — I 
must finish it. How can it be wrong to — to — examine 


im 


THEO WADDINGTON 


both sides of a question ? ” she concluded, looking at him 
half-appealingly. 

“I am afraid you are in a dangerous way, Miss 
Waddington. You ought not to tamper with Herbert 
Spencer if you want to remain a good Presbyterian. 
Ignorance cannot be severed from its twin sister Faith, 
without the destruction of the latter.” 

“ I don’t believe that — I can’t believe that ! I shall 
read everything and prove to myself that my faith is 
true.” 

“ Oh, of course, if you go at it with that idea, you may 
find in the writings of Tom Paine himself, nothing but 
proofs of the correctness of your dogmas,” he said, with 
a sarcastic laugh. 

The sound made the little girl stir in Theo’s arms. 
They both became quiet and watched her, expecting that 
she would settle down again in a moment. But she 
opened her eyes and suddenly sat up in Theo’s lap. 
Rushmore almost at the same instant, stepped back of 
the large arm-chair in which they were sitting; for he 
instinctively felt a desire to see what the little child 
would do when she discovered herself in the stranger’s 
arms. 

The big blue eyes glanced around expectantly for an 
instant ; then an expression of disappointment gathered 
in them and they slowly turned upon Theo. The lit- 
tle girl looked at her for a moment, the disappointment 
changing into a great surprise. Theo remained quiet 
and watched her with interest. The result of Lucy’s 
examination of the strange lady’s kind face, seemed to be 
entirely satisfactory ; she was evidently neither timid nor 
afraid in her unexpected situation. She laid her small 


THEO WADDINGTON 


167 


hand on Theo’s bare shoulder and said, as she looked at 
her earnestly — 

“You are very pretty. But I can’t think how you hap- 
pen to be here with me. Are you a fairy No,” she 
hastily added, “I know you are not, because fairies are 
little and you are big. pid you come up from mamma's 
party to see me } ” 

“Yes, dear. I found you on the floor asleep.” 

“ r was waiting for papa to come home. He always 
comes in here to read before he goes to bed, and I was 
waiting for him to tell him good-night. I thought,” look- 
ing around her again, “that I heard papa talk and laugh. 
I guess I only dreamed it.” 

Rushmore had seated himself on a stool behind Theo’s 
chair and was consequently out of sight. 

“Do you think he will soon come home V Lucy asked, 
looking wistfully at Theo. 

“ I should think so, dear.” 

“ Will you stay with me until he comes } ” 

“If he is not too long away.” 

“May be he won’t come all night. Sometimes he 
stays away all night,” she said, sadly. “When you were 
a little girl, did you ever wait up for your papa ? ” 

“No, I can’t say that I did. Do you often do it.^” 

“Yes. Jane puts me to bed, and when she goes away, 
I get up and come in here. Don’t tell mamma. You 
won’t tell mamma you found me in here, will you.^” 

“ I’m afraid you are naughty,” Theo said, looking down 
into the child’s face with a smile, as she passed her white 
hand over her curls. 

“Yes, I am,” she replied, confidentially. “Mamma 
says I am, and so does Jane.” 


168 


THEO WADDINGTON 


And what does papa say ? ” 

“Mamma says papa spoils me. Papa is the only per- 
son who likes me,” she added, her eyes growing very big, 
and her lips taking on the sensitive curve they had worn 
in her sleep. 

Rushmore suddenly rose and came around to the front 
of the chair. Lucy’s face lighted up but she did not cry 
out, as most other children would have done. He bent 
down over her so that his hair almost brushed Miss Wad- 
dington’s white shoulder. The little girl put her arms 
around his neck and he lifted her from Theo’s lap with 
the party cloak still around her. 

It seemed odd to Theo to see this stern, cynical man 
of the world in the character of the fond and tender 
father. He seated himself with his child on his knee 
and pressed her head against his broad chest. She 
heaved a deep sigh of relief and contentment as she 
nestled close to him, keeping her eyes fixed upon the face 
above her, as though she feared it would vanish should 
she look away for an instant. 

“ Shut your eyes and go to sleep, dear one,” he said, 
gently pressing down her eyelids. “It is very late for 
my little girl to be up and awake. She will make herself 
ill, if she does so.” * 

Lucy obediently kept her eyes closed, even through 
all the conversation which followed between her papa and 
the strange, lovely lady. Soon the sound of their voices 
became a monotonous hum, distant and faint, and the 
drowsy eyelids ceased to quiver, but lay as still as wax 
over the pretty, wistful blue eyes. 

“Miss Waddington,” Rushmore said, in a tone that 
was half-mocking, “you are a judicious young woman. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


169 


I believe. Will you tell me how I shall teach this little 
daughter of mine to break herself of the habit she has 
formed of getting out of bed when she is put there, and 
waiting up half the night for her papa’s return home } I 
have told her not to do it ; but when I come home and 
find her here, her poor little body weary with waiting for 
me, what can I do but kiss and forgive her.? But you 
are your father’s own daughter, and no doubt are a firm 
believer in the doctrine that ‘family discipline should be 
maintained at all hazards’,” he added, in comical imita- 
tion of Dr. Waddington’s emphatic manner. “So tell 
me what course you would advise.” 

Theo looked at him in astonishment. 

“Then you remember my father.?” she exclaimed. 

It was now his turn to feel surprised. “Remember 
him .? So you are acquainted with the fact that I once 
knew him .? You remember my having lived in your 
town for a few months, eight years ago.?” 

“Yes, I remember you.” 

“ Why did you never speak of it .? ” 

“Why yoti never speak of it.?” she asked. 

“I recognized you only a few weeks ago. Did you 
know me from the first .? ” 

“Yes; but I never thought it worth while to try to 
recall myself to you, for I didn’t believe you would be 
able to recollect our family at all.” 

“Oh, yes, I remember you all very well. You were 
an odd child. I was very much interested in you. Do 
you remember you once told me about the little diary 
you kept, in which you wrote all your ‘ secret thoughts ’ 
whenever you grew restless .?” 

“Yes, I remember,” Theo said, smiling. 


no 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“I think you are like your father in many ways. You 
have some of his decision. You would bring up a family, 
not perhaps with severity, but with discipline.” 

“I believe the disobedience is the best thing in Lucy’s 
life, and if I were in your place I should never treat it 
other than tenderly. I should certainly encourage and 
indulge it. Have a sofa-bedstead in this room, and let 
her be put to bed in it, instead of in her nursery. Don’t 
thwart and crush but cherish everything which is sweet 
and good in her nature. Childhood is sad enough, God 
knows,” she added, mournfully. 

“That is not the usual theory about it,” he replied, 
gravely, as he looked down into his child’s pale, wistful 
face. “Lucy is not a joyous little one, but I have 
always thought with regret that she was an exceptional 
child in this respect.” 

“Childhood is not life’s happiest time,” Theo replied. 
“We are stronger to fight our more mature sorrows. 
From childhood’s suffering there is no appeal, but we can 
have some outlook from our later troubles.” 

“Were you an unhappy child 

“I had the kindest of parents, but little did they 
dream of the struggles which often went on in my heart. 
We can’t be too tender with children.” * 

“You are only half a Puritan,” he said. “The woman 
in you almost triumphs.” 

Before she could reply to this they suddenly heard 
footsteps and voices in the hall outside the library 
door. Theo started and looked at Rushmore inquiringly. 
“Surely the party is not over already .?” 

“I suppose so,” he said, drawing out his watch 
and glancing at it. “It was so late when I came in 


THEO WADDINGTON 


171 


that I rather expected to find the house empty even 
then.” 

“And were disappointed to discover that even your 
own private sanctum, here, was occupied by some of the 
company you had tried to avoid by staying out late 

“Since you ask me — yes; I was disappointed to find 
that Mrs. Rushmore’s party had penetrated even to these 
quarters.” 

The color came to Theo’s face as she rose hastily. 

“I am very sorry indeed,” she said, in some confusion. 
“ I will go away at once. I beg your pardon for this 
intrusion. Can you give me my cloak without waking 
Lucy.?” 

He looked up at her with something very like a 
twinkle of amusement in his eyes, but he made no move- 
ment toward giving her the cloak. 

“Do please sit down. I feel very ungallant to be 
keeping my seat while you stand, but I fear I shall rouse 
Lucy if I get up.” 

“ But I must go. I am an intruder here, and the peo- 
ple are all coming up-stairs. I must go down and speak 
to Mrs. Rushmore, or she will think me very remiss, and 
Cousin Violet will wonder what has become of me. Will 
you please "give me my cloak .? ” 

“You misunderstood me,” he said, looking at her 
directly. “Although I felt chagrined to find my chair 
occupied and my book appropriated when I came in all 
tired out to-night, yet — I am glad now, to have had this 
chat with you. I am not now sorry you were here. Do 
sit down again.” 

“You are condescending. Will you give me my cloak, 
please ?” 


172 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“You are offended with me?” 

“Honesty never offends me. As you are not going to 
give me my cloak I shall have to go home without it. 
Good-night.” 

“Stop, please, one moment. You have a spice of your 
father’s determination in you. As I can’t persuade you 
to stay, here it is. Women always have their own way 
with me. So do children and other weak things.” 

He held out the garment, which he had so deftly 
removed that the child had not moved or stirred during 
the operation. 

“ ‘ Other weak things V’ Theo repeated, as she received 
it from him. “ I notice you usually speak very disparag- 
ingly of women.” 

“ And you disapprove of me for that ? ” 

She looked at him gravely. “ I pity you. I can’t help 
wondering, when I hear you sneer at women, what sort 
of a mother you had.” 

His pale face flushed as he replied — 

“Now you have paid me back for having called you an 
intruder. Women are always vengeful.” 

“I did not mean to be. Good-night.” 

She glanced at Lucy, but she did not bend to kiss her, 
as he half-expected she would do. 

“The child will take cold if you do not put something 
around her,” she said; and then she left him. 

The cosy library looked almost dreary as there van- 
ished from it the bright picture of the tall woman stand- 
ing before the hearth, with her long skirts sweeping the 
dark carpet. 

Rushmore rose, walked slowly and carefully across the 
floor and left the room. After a few moments he 


THEO WADDINGTON 


173 


returned without his little girl. He went back to the 
hearth and seated himself in his arm-chair. He threw 
his head back upon the cushion, and closed his eyes 
wearily. He had done a hard day’s work, so hard that it 
had almost exhausted even his indomitable energy; for 
he was able to endure more than most men. His nerv- 
ous and mental force, his persistency and power of 
endurance were the constant wonder of all his fellow-law- 
yers. But to-night he was tired. Not so tired, however, 
but that he was able to meditate a little on his encounter 
with Miss Waddington. 

“And that is the little Theo I once knew — that! 
Well ! I wonder if she will marry Colwell. If she docs 
she will not be haj^py” — and here he frowned, as he 
opened his eyes and raised his head. “The man she 
marries must be intellectually congenial to her. And 
yet, I can’t imagine a woman’s refusing to marry Colwell. 
Such a thing is absolutely unthinkable. What a despica- 
ble thing human nature is!” he said, with a short, sar- 
castic laugh. “But,” he reluctantly admitted, looking 
thoughtfully into the fire, “ Miss Waddington does seem 
honest ; as much so now as I recollect her to have been 
when she was a little girl of thirteen,” he added, smiling. 
“She is not so cold, either, as I thought her; she was 
very gentle to Lucy when she did not know she was 
being observed. But perhaps, after all, she did see me 
appear in that doorway. If so she did the tender part to 
Lucy very naturally. Women are excellent at acting a 
part. She looked lovely as she knelt on the floor and 
bent over that sleeping little girl. But it is more than 
likely that she knew I was watching at the door.” 

Then suddenly the color mounted to his face ; he rose 


174 


THEO WADDINGTON 


abruptly, kicked a footstool out of his way, and strode to 
the other end of the room. He knew these thoughts 
were utterly unworthy, and he felt ashamed of himself 
the moment after they had crossed his mind. 

“Well, well, we shall see,” he muttered, as he paced 
back and forth across the floor. “ If she marries Colwell 
I shall utterly despise her. And if she is fool enough to 
refuse him, I shall — I shall laugh at her stupidity! For 
what is our life but a short, foolish farce, and if we can 
make our little sojourn in this absurd world easy, luxu- 
rious and enviable, by selling ourselves, why, it is a mis- 
taken, bigoted superstition which would lead us to choose 
obscurity, comparative poverty, and the lack of much that 
makes life beautiful and desirable to the generality of 
mankind. And Colwell would not make a bad husband 
at all. She could easily persuade herself to be very fond 
of him.” 

He stopped short and sat down once more in the arm- 
chair, leaning his head on his hand and again gazing 
thoughtfully into the fire. “ Eight years ago she was a 
dear little child, as interesting as my own little Lucy. 
‘Theo’,” he said, repeating the name as though experi- 
menting with it. “‘Theo, Theo’ — I like the name. 
Somehow it suits the character of that pale, spirituelle 
face. What a pity it is that she has been brought up in 
such a narrow-minded sphere as that of Dr. Wadding- 
ton’s household. She will be improved somewhat by her 
visit here in New York, but she will never get entirely 
over her Puritan primness, and her careful considering 
of her actions and speech. A little rash impulse would 
be more to my taste. I never hated Puritanism in any 
one as I hate it in her ! ” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


175 


His meditation was suddenly interrupted by the en- 
trance of his wife. He rose as he saw her appear on the 
threshold. He was always punctiliously polite to her 
when they were alone. He was startled as he observed 
how pale she was, and how unsteadily she walked across 
the floor. She was dressed in pale, lavender silk, which 
was exceedingly well suited to her delicate, blond beauty. 
She was very dainty and lovely to look upon. Unlike 
most husbands, Rushmore had never grown insensible to 
Jiis young wife’s beauty. His artistic eye was always 
conscious of every detail of it, and it never failed to 
appeal to the natural tenderness of his disposition. 
Indeed he was not without a lingering love for this little 
tyrannical lady who had opened his eyes, as he thought, 
to the folly and selfishness of the female sex, shaken his 
faith in human nature, clouded his home with her petty 
temper and embittered a heart which was by nature warm 
and affectionate. 

He hastened to her side when he saw how weak was 
her step and flow pale and weary she was. 

He put his strong arm around her small waist to sup- 
port her to a seat. There was nothing caressing in the 
act, but there was great gentleness in the strength he 
lent her. He placed her in the huge chair before the 
hearth which a short time before had been occupied by 
Theo. As he looked down upon her white face resting 
on the cushion, he involuntarily contrasted its weak, friv- 
olous features with the grave, earnest expression of Miss 
Waddington’s face as it had looked a quarter of an hour 
before. 

“This, Horace, is the result of your neglect of me. 
I am half dead,” Mrs. Rushmore faintly said, turning her 


176 


THEO WADDINGTON 


head wearily upon the cushion. “I had to do the honors 
to-night entirely alone and unaided.” 

Rush more made no reply as he continued to stand by 
her chair and look down upon her. 

‘‘I suppose you have been enjoying yourself up here 
with Lucy. Was that naughty child out of her bed when 
you came home.? And what time did you get home.? 

“Too late to be of any assistance to you, Isabel.” 

“Did you find Lucy waiting for you here .?” 

“Yes. Why.?” 

“Naughty girl ! She shall be punished for that,” Mrs. 
Rushmore cried, fretfully. “If you had any proper 
regard for me, Horace, you would punish her for disobey- 
ing her mother’s commands. I distinctly forbade her to 
get out of her bed to-night.” 

“To-morrow I shall send up a sofa-bedstead from down 
town which must be put up in this room, and here- 
after Lucy must be put to bed in it, instead of in the 
nursery.” 

“I shall allow nothing of the sort!” cried Isabel. 
“Sofa-bedsteads are horrible things, and I won’t have 
one in my library I ” 

“Lucy must not be allowed to expose herself by get- 
ting out of bed and coming through the cold halls every 
night.” 

“Of course she must not. Neither must she be 
allowed to disobey her mother. But the way to cure 
her is certainly not to humor her. She needs a taste of 
the birch. If you do not give it to her, I shall. And 
as for a sofa-bedstead, if you send one up I shall send it 
directly back.” 

A little dangerous spark came into his black eye^ ; his 


THEO WADDINGTON 


177 


face turned a trifle paler ; he frowned and compressed his 
lips, but he made no answer. 

Horace,” she continued, complainingly, “you are 
constantly revealing how much more you care for Lucy 
than for me. You would move heaven and earth to grat- 
ify that child’s slightest wish, and whenever I ask you to 
do anything, you always flatly refuse.” 

Rushmore made no defense. 

“You never grant a single request I make of you,” she 
insisted, determined to draw a reply from him. 

But he continued silent. 

“If I should die you would be glad of it. You 
have not the least sympathy with my sufferings and 
weakness.” 

“Come,” he said, gravely, “you are very much worn 
out ; let me help you to your dressing-room and ring for 
your maid.” 

“ Not a step shall I go until you’ve promised me that 
you will say no more about a sofa-bed, and that you will 
either punish Lucy yourself to-morrow morning, or at 
least not take her part if I punish her.” 

“If you dare to touch a hair of her head” — but he 
checked himself abruptly, turned away from her and 
strode to the other end of the room. When after an 
instant he came back again to her side, his face was still 
pale, but he was cool and calm. 

“Will you take my arm he said, offering it to her. 

“Not until you have promised me,” she repeated, 
obstinately. 

“You will think better of it in the morning. Come.” 

“You need not imagine for a moment that you are 
going to persuade me to have a sofa-bedstead put up in 


178 


THEO WADDINGTON 


this library. I don’t believe in humoring children to that 
extent.” 

*‘We shall discuss the sofa-bedstead in the morning. 
You are too tired now, to wrangle about it. So am I. I 
have worked hard to-day, and I am tired.” 

She had almost never before heard him say he was 
tired. She glanced up at him and saw how pale and 
weary he looked, and for a moment she felt a little molli- 
fied. But a certain expression which she caught about 
the curve of his lips, an expression of which years of 
experience had taught her the meaning, excited her to 
continued resistance. 

“Now, Horace, I just know you are going to be hate- 
ful about that sofa-bed. You are going to be obstinate, 
I can see it in your face. You don’t care what I suffer, 
you care only to please Lucy, you know you do. And 
you will let her disobey me to any extent without ever 
raising a finger to interfere, you know you will.” 

“ If Lucy ever behaved half as badly as you are behav- 
ing just now, Isabel, I should certainly not hesitate to be 
quite as severe with her as you would have me.” 

Isabel burst into tears. 

“You are perfectly brutal to me — and I am so weak 
and ill!” she sobbed. “I just know you are going to 
be perfectly obstinate about that sofa-bed — and you 
are going to insist upon having it, if it breaks my 
heart.” 

“I don’t often oppose you. Never, when I can avoid 
it. But when I do come to a decision you know how 
futile your tears are. So now if you won’t let me help 
you to bed, I must leave you here.” 

He spoke with the quiet firmness which she knew it 


THEO WADDINGTON 


179 


was useless to oppose. She dried her tears at once, rose, 
and allowed him to assist her out of the room. 

The next day the sofa-bed was put up in the library. 

Lucy was not whipped for her disobedience. Mrs. 
Rushmore, despite her tyrannies and her tempers, knew 
how far she dared try her husband’s patience. But the 
little girl was punished in a dozen ways of which her 
father knew 'nothing. During all the long hours of the 
following day she was thwarted, checked, scolded and 
harassed almost beyond her childish power of endurance. 
Mrs. Rushmore was so thoroughly selfish that she had 
very little real love for any one besides herself. 


180 


THEO WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER VI 

N OW this is what I call real enjoyment.” 

Theo was sitting by Mr. Colwell’s side in a low 
phaeton, speeding along a smooth country road at a very 
rapid rate. The glossy black ponies which the young 
man drove were of the finest breed. The phaeton* was 
comfortably cushioned with dark green cloth. The day 
was bright and warm. The roads were almost perfect. 
The country was beautiful in its early spring dress. 
Theo drank in with delight this first taste of nature 
which she had had in many weeks. She would have pre- 
ferred to ride on in silence, for the loveliness of the day 
was more conducive to reverie than to idle chatting. 
But she knew she dared not commit the social crime of 
allowing the conversation to flagg. Her life in New 
York had taught her many new things ; she was learning 
to be conventional. 

A few days previous, she had happened to express in 
Mr. Colwell’s presence a desire to breathe a breath of 
fresh country air, now that the long winter was drawing 
to an end, and spring was coming on. Mr. Colwell had 
immediately invited her to drive with him to one of his 
estates in the suburbs of the city. She had seen fit to 
decline this invitation for some reason inexplicable to the 
young man. But he was not to be foiled in his generous 


THBO WADDINGTON 


181 


purpose to please her. He forthwith got up a driving 
party. Ten of his handsomest carriages and twenty of 
his finest horses were brought into service, and a merry 
company set off for Mt. Vernon, Theo riding with the 
host. 

“This is what I call real enjoyment,” she had said, 
leaning luxuriously against the soft cushions of the phae- 
ton, as she dreamily watched the few specks of cloud 
floating in the blue sky. 

“I’m so glad you like it. It is a nice thing. I never 
thought of having this sort of a thing before. It’s such 
a new sort of thing, don’t you know. I’ve had almost 
everything one could think of, but this sort of thing 
never occurred to me. Now I’ve a riddle for you.” 

“Well?” she inquired, lazily. She did not object to 
his companionship as she would have to some other of 
the party ; for he rattled on at such a rate that he gave 
her a great deal of leisure to dream and meditate between 
the pauses in which she was compelled to think up some 
remark. And it took so little to start him going again 
when he did stop for a moment, that she really found 
him very easy to get on with. 

“Why are you like this — this thing?” he asked. 

“What thing?” she inquired, slightly astonished, for 
she had not been following him very closely. 

“This driving-party.” 

“Why am I like this driving-party?” she repeated, 
rousing herself and collecting her wandering wits. “I 
was never known to guess a conundrum. You will have 
to tell me.” 

“Because you are odd — and so is this thing.” 

He seemed so delighted with this intellectual feat that 


182 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Theo, in the kindness of her heart, laughed a little to 
gratify him. 

How am I odd } ” 

“Oh, you are such a new sort of thing, don't you 
know — that is, I mean — I don't mean thing in this 
case — but you are quite unusual. Now I'm just per- 
fectly sure that you like this driving-party better than a 
ball. Other young ladies wouldn't. I’ve no doubt you 
just dote on scenery and views and new-mown cows and 
fresh-laid hens, and — oh, what am I saying.^ I'm all 
mixed up ; but you know what I mean ! Now, am I not 
correct } " 

“Yes, I suppose so," she acquiesced, not thinking it 
worth while to enter into a close analysis of his vague 
remarks. 

“I knew it !" he cried, delightedly. “I've probed you 
to the depths. You are very poetical. At the same 
time you are very cold. You have no sentiment. A 
charming combination of traits, I think. Such an 
entirely new sort of thing, don't you know. A beauti- 
ful counterbalance to my too enthusiastic temperament. 
I am very enthusiastic. You are calm. Our natures 
just fit like lock and key, don't they.^" 

“I suppose so," Theo said, vaguely, as she watched a 
squirrel skim along a hedge. 

“I'm so awfully glad you think so ! " he cried. 

“Don't frighten it!" she whispered, leaning forward 
with her eyes fixed upon the hedge. “Ah, there, it is 
gone I " she added, in a tone of disappointment. 

Mr. Colwell looked confounded. He had been leading 
up with remarkably delicate tact and fine effect to a very 
thrilling point. And to be thus ruthlessly thrust back, 


THEO WADDINGTOEt 


m 


as it were, by a mere squirrel, was — well, it was only 
another example of Miss Waddington’s extraordinary 
combination of coldness and poeticism. No doubt she 
perfectly doted on squirrels. Here was an idea! He 
would try once more. 

“ I wish I were a squirrel I ” he sighed. 

Now if only she had inquired why he wished he was a 
squirrel his road would have been smooth. But she 
made no comment. 

“ She has no idea of what is in store for her,” thought 
Colwell complacently, “ or she would help me along 
quickly enough.” 

“Squirrels are so picturesque.^” he said aloud, hoping 
still to arrive at his point by means of this small animal. 

He looked at her inquiringly, but she continued silent, 
gazing listlessly at the road ahead of them. 

“ Don’t you think they are frisky ? ” 

“What.? Riding-parties.?” she said, shaking off her 
abstraction with an effort. 

“No ; squirrels,” he replied, in a tone of despair. 

“Squirrels frisky.? Oh, yes,” and she again relapsed 
into indolent inattention. 

Colwell saw that squirrels could not be made to lead 
up to the point. He must try something else. His 
resources were many and varied. 

“Miss Waddington, to be perfectly candid with you, 
are you rich .? ” 

Theo started and looked at him in surprise. Then she 
smiled as she replied — 

“You would call me very poor — poverty-stricken — a 
pauper.” 

“ Should you like to be rich ? ” 


184 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“ I have never suffered for anything. Consequently I 
have never thought much about money-matters.” 

“ Same here,” he said, pointing at himself with his 
forefinger. “I’ve always had everything I wanted, and 
so I’ve never given a thought to money, and I don’t care 
if you are poor. It does not affect my regard for you in 
the slightest degree ! ” 

“You are very gracious,” she quietly replied, with a 
queer little twitch about the corners of her mouth which 
he interpreted to be her emotion at the prospect of what 
she must by this time have discerned was the point to 
which he was leading. 

“Oh, don’t mention it! I think not a whit the less of 
you for being poor!” he repeated, in thorough enjoyment 
of his own magnanimous condescension. “Now tell me. 
Miss Waddington, how you should like to spend your 
life.?” 

“ In company with those I love, with plenty of leisure 
for dreaming and reading, and money enough to enable 
me to relieve distress wherever I see it.” 

“Why, that just suits me,” he exclaimed, delightedly. 
“Do you know I was awfully afraid you would want to 
go in for foreign missions and all that sort of thing.?” 

“Why should you be so pleased.?” she asked, looking 
at him wonderingly. “What difference can it make to 
you .? ” 

He laughed gleefully. He felt sure she was only 
feigning this seeming ignorance of his purpose. “How 
piquant you are ! So awfully unique and all that sort of 
thing, don’t you know.? Now whom do you like best in 
the world.?” he asked in a very insinuating tone, bending 
toward her and trying to look into her eyes. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


186 


“You ask very silly questions,” she remarked, drawing 
away. 

“No, but do tell me,” he persisted, smiling persua- 
sively, “ whom do you like best in the world } ” 

“My father. And my mother,” she added. 

“How charmingly coquettish!” thought Colwell. 

“But you know,” he added aloud, “the Bible says a 
woman should leave father and mother and cleave unto 
her husband.” 

“What is the relevancy of that remark.^” she abruptly 
demanded. . 

The point was reached. Colwell thrilled all over at 
the realization of that stupendous fact. 

He laid his hand on hers and softly said — 

“Miss Waddington — Theo — I mean to make you my 
wife I ” 

“Indeed!” Theo exclaimed, looking at him with wide- 
open eyes as she drew away her hand. 

“ Nay, do not look so surprised. I really mean it. I 
am not joking.” 

“You really intend to make me your wife You have 
quite decided that you mean to do that ? ” 

“Yes, I have thought it all out and I am quite decided, 
Theo! And I hope you will consent to name an early 
date. Say, when shall if be .^ ” 

He attempted to put his arm around her, but she 
repulsed him. 

“What have I ever said or done,” she coldly asked, 
“that could possibly have led you to suppose I wanted to 
marry you ? ” 

“ Nothing, Miss Waddington, nothing,” he said, amia- 
bly. “I really don’t think you ever had any designs 


186 


THEO WADDJNGTON 


upon me. I do not at all feel that I have been taken in. 
Don’t distress yourself on that point. My decision to 
marry you has been entirely voluntary. Many a young 
lady has tried to take me in, but I quite exonerate you 
from any such intentions. I don’t think you ever had 
any idea of marrying me. I quite understand your pres- 
ent surprise. I could see all along that you had no idea 
until this afternoon of my real intentions with regard to 
you. Now aren’t you pleasantly surprised.^” he asked, 
with the most naXve delight and eagerness. 

“What makes you imagine that this is a pleasant sur- 
prise to me, Mr. Colwell ? I have not the least desire in 
the world to marry you.” 

Mr. Colwell thought his ears must be deceiving him. 

“Oh, but you can’t mean that, don’t you know, 
you can’t possibly. Of course I know you’re odd — 
you’re not like other young ladies, you know — you’re an 
entirely new sort of thing — but you’re not so awfully 
queer as — as ” — 

“As not to want to marry you } But indeed I am, Mr. 
Colwell. Nothing could induce me to become your wife. 
You see I am quite as candid with you as you are with 
me.” 

“But why not.?” he asked, in amazement. “Why, I 
thought you would be so glad ! ” 

“ What could possibly make you think that .? ” 

“Well, I’m just perfectly sure that most other young 
ladies would be.” 

“ But why should they be .? ” 

“I declare. Miss Waddington, you’re the newest sort 
of thing out!” he exclaimed, scarcely knowing whether 
to be more chagrined or astonished. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


187 


“Did you suppose, Mr. Colwell,” she said, gravely, 
“that I would jump at the chance of selling myself to 
you } ” 

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “That is such an awfully hor- 
rid way to put it. Miss Waddington I But I’m just sure 
you are only joking. Well, I’m quite willing to wait till 
you come round.” 

. “ I shall never ' come round ’, Mr. Colwell. Can’t you 
understand me I absolutely refuse your — your — I 
can’t say your offer. I absolutely deny your statement 
that you are going to marry me. I say it is false. You 
are not.” 

It now began to dawn upon Mr. Colwell that his offer 
of marriage was being refused. His face grew red and a 
very naughty temper began to sparkle in his mild blue 
eyes. 

“Well, if this isn’t the most unheard-of thing!” he 
exclaimed, wrathfully. 

“I have a curiosity to know why you want to marry 
me,” Theo said, again leaning back lazily in the soft seat 
of the phaeton. “ Do you really think it would make you 
happy to have me tied to your side all your life long.?” 

“Yes,” he declared emphatically, “that is just what I 
want. I want to have you round all the time.” 

“For myself,” said Theo, “I can imagine nothing that 
would be more unbearable to me.” 

“ And you mean to say that you prefer to go back to 
that humble home of yours in that country town and live 
there all the rest of your life in obscurity rather than be 
Mrs. Archibald Colwell .? ” 

“Yes.” 

The sparkle in Mr. Colwell’s eyes grew dangerous. 


188 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“I never was so angry in my life!” he exclaimed, 
bringing his hand down upon his knee with a wrathful 
blow. “ Fm sorry I asked you ! ” 

His impotent rage was so like that of a naughty, pas- 
sionate child that Theo found it impossible to remain 
grave. She could not repress the little rippling laugh 
that rose to her lips. 

This was too much. Mr. Colwell’s head swam. Oh, 
how he longed to box her ears I He made a sudden res- 
olution. He stopped the horses and jumped from the 
phaeton. He was quite beside himself with his petty 
fury. 

“Come, get out!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand 
to Theo. 

“What for.?” she asked, still laughing. She could not 
help it ; his wrath was so utterly absurd. 

“ I will not drive with you another minute ! Come, 
get out of my carriage ! ” 

Ignoring his outstretched hand she jumped to the 
ground at once. The other carriages of the party were 
all far ahead. 

“Now!” exclaimed Colwell, leaping to his seat again 
and taking up the reins, “there you are! Get home as 
best you can ! You shan’t ride another inch in any of 
my carriages ! I never was so mad with any one in all 
my life ! ” 

He cracked his whip and the ponies sped away, and 
Theo was left alone in the unfamiliar country road miles 
away from any house. Astonishment at his conduct had 
momentarily checked her laughter. For an instant her 
eyes followed the rapidly retreating phaeton in bewilder- 
ment. Then she sank down upon the green bank beside 


THEO WADDINGTON 


189 


which she found herself, and began to laugh again. 
Never in all her serious young life had she laughed so 
heartily. She swayed back and forth and almost shrieked 
in the excess of her amusement as she wiped away the 
tears which her uncontrollable mirth forced from her 
eyes. 

Finally this hysterical paroxysm spent itself and she 
rose again to look about her and discover if possible some 
escape from the awkward predicament in which her 
ungallant lover’s conduct had placed her. She finally 
secured the conveyance of a friendly farmer to take her 
to the city. 


190 


THEO WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER VII 

T hat night, when Mrs. Graybill and her cousin sat 
together in the latter’s dressing-room, they talked 
long and earnestly over a point which lay very near to 
the heart of one of them. 

Mrs. Graybill found it impossible to express in words 
her horror and chagrin at Theo’s unheard-of rashness in 
refusing the millionaire, Colwell. However, as argument 
and ridicule proved alike unavailing in changing her 
cousin’s mind, she finally decided to find this absolute 
unworldliness of Theo’s to be vastly amusing and an occa- 
sion for the most extravagant laughter. 

But her amusement was quickly dissipated by another 
communication which Theo made to her that evening. 

“I have had a letter from father. Cousin Violet.” 

“Do read it to me, dear. His letters to you are 
always so droll.” 

“I’m afraid you won’t like what he says this time. 
He wants me to come home.” 

“You’re not going home, dear! I shall not part with 
you. I shall write and tell him so. I can’t let you go I ” 
“But he bids me come, and you know all I have to do 
in that case is to go.” 

“You great, big creature — can’t you assert your 
independence ? ” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


191 


Theo smiled. “My dear cousin, you don’t know my 
father, or you would not suggest such a thing.” 

“Yes, I do know him, and I think it absurd of you to 
be so childishly obedient to him.” 

“Perhaps it would be,” Theo said, looking at her 
cousin gravely, “if I did not love him so much. And, 
Cousin Violet,” she added, earnestly, “the whole habit of 
my life has made it become a second nature to me to 
seek his approbation in everything that I do — almost in 
everything that I think. And oh, it will be so hard — 
so hard to break away from this habit.” 

There was a tone of real suffering in her voice, as she 
spoke. She leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair 
and shaded her eyes with her hand. 

“Why, my dear,” Mrs. Graybill said, in some curiosity, 
“what do you mean Do you intend, after all, to rebel 
against parental authority.^ Are you going to let me 
persuade you to stay with me.^” 

“No,” said Theo, without raising her eyes from her 
hand; “ I am going home. But” — and here she looked 
up — “I have changed very much since I first came to 
you. Cousin Violet. I feel sometimes, like a new creat- 
ure. And father cannot fail to discover the change.” 

“Well, you have not changed for the worse.” 

“ He will think so.” 

“Why, what outrageous things do you propose doing 
when you get home ? In that small town of York there 
is no opportunity to be very wickedly worldly.” 

“No. Nevertheless, father will soon find out that I 
have changed. And I am afraid that we shall clash. Oh, 
Cousin Violet,” she added, leaning forward and laying 
her hand in Mrs. Graybill’s lap, “I am very grateful to 


192 


THEO WADDINGTON 


you for all your kindness to me — but I sometimes wish 
I had never come here ! ” 

Mrs. Graybill looked into the dark eyes raised to her 
face and wondered at the excitement which shone in them. 

‘‘Theo, what is the matter with you.?” 

don’t know. I feel as if I were standing on the 
edge of a perilous precipice. All my past life is a dream, 
and I am only just now' beginning really to live. Exist- 
ence, which before seemed to me a comparatively simple 
matter, quite explainable by my petty system of theolog- 
ical philosophy, now appears full of unexpected complica- 
tions. I have lost faith in much that I used to accept 
without question. I am in that state which Emerson 
describes as ‘questioning custom at all points ’. My 
doubts have been aroused and I can never rest until they 
are either banished, or confirmed into a decided skepti- 
cism. I am unsettled and have quite lost my bearings. 
It is terrible to me to think that only a few months ago I 
was an innocent — absurdly, stupidly innocent — child ; 
and now I feel like a blase woman of forty. I see men 
look at me and say with their eyes what they would not 
dare speak, and I smile and do not care, and, oh, I have 
no self-respect ! ” 

“Theo, dear,” Mrs. Graybill said, smoothing the hand ^ 
which lay in her lap, “you are morbidly sensitive; you 
are abnormally conscientious. Life would be a perfect 
burden to me if I took it so seriously as you do. Come 
now, my love, don’t indulge those uncanny ideas any 
longer, but read me your father’s letter, and let me see 
just how positive he is about your returning home, so 
that I may know if there is any hope at all of my being 
able to keep you longer.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


100 


Theo drew the envelope from the pocket of her dress- 
ing-gown. She turned the lamp at her elbow, a trifle 
higher, then opened the letter and read : 

“Presbyterian Parsonage, April loth. 
“My Very Dear Child : 

“This morning I received your birthday gift. The 
handkerchiefs are beautiful and your mother tells me the 
embroidery on them is wonderfully well done ; so I com- 
mend your thoughtful industry. They are of added value 
because of the dear fingers which have been at work 
upon them. 

“Amy is sitting near me, just now, writing you, I 
doubt not, a lengthy and minute account of all our house- 
hold doings, so I shall not transgress upon her field — 
especially as I hope to see you before the week is out. 
I wish you to come home next Thursday. When you 
left us, we had no idea of being without our girl so long, 
or I think we could not have found it in our hearts to let 
her go. I find I must speak very definitely to get you 
back at all. So next Thursday, dear child, Joe and I 
shall meet you at the 6 p. m. train. 

“Thank your cousin, for me, for her kindness to you, 
and tell her how glad we shall be to have her visit us, 
whenever she can. 

“Your mother is quietly happy at the prospect of hav- 
ing you with her once more. I told her at the breakfast 
table, this morning, that I should expect you back next 
Thursday, and she has been going about the house all 
day with a very bright light shining in her eyes, and a 
pre-occupied expression on her face, of which I know the 
meaning, well. 

“All join me in love to you and Cousin Violet. 

“Affectionately, your father, 

“H. R. Waddington.” 

“One of father’s strongest points,” Theo said, as she 


194 


THEO WADDINGTON 


folded the letter and slipped it into its envelope, “is his 
utter faith in mother. He thinks her the most perfect of 
women. Well,” she added, with a deep sigh, turning 
toward Mrs. Graybill, “I shall feel very sorry to leave 
you, dear!” 

“I am glad to hear you say so,” Mrs. Graybill replied, 
with an unusual gravity in her voice and countenance. 
“You have worked yourself into my heart, Theo, and I 
find it hard to part with you. You will come to me soon 
again, won’t you ? ” 

“I hope so. Cousin Violet.” 

“You must come, I need you. I shall be utterly for- 
lorn when you go. You have really made me a little dis- 
satisfied with my selfish, pleasure-loving life. You are so 
strong and earnest, Theo, you have led me to long for 
something better than my worldly life has ever known. 
We have done each other good, I think.” 

“How can I have done you any good I feel myself 
so weak.” 

“No, you are strong. As I told Mr. Rushmore this 
afternoon, you are rich in intelligence, without the least 
pretension ; you are quivering with sensibility, yet so 
quiet and grave in your manners that one is almost 
inclined, sometimes, to think you cold and hard.” 

A slight color came into Theo’s face. She did not 
answer at once. But presently she looked up and said, 
slowly — 

“ And what did Mr. Rushmore say to that } ” 

“Not a word, my dear. He met the remark with an 
absolute silence. I don’t think he believes in you at all. 
He has an idea that any one who sets up to be very relig- 
ious is necessarily either a fool or a hypocrite.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


195 


The flush in Theo’s face deepened, and she looked 
away from Mrs. Graybill to the glowing logs in the open 
grate. 

“Dearest,” Mrs. Graybill continued, “if you dread 
going home to your father’s house, you have a very easy 
way out of the difficulty. Marry Mr. Colwell.” 

“ I can never do that ! ” 

She rose abruptly, and stepped away from the fire. 

She walked to a window, drew aside the heavy silk cur- 
tains and looked out. She felt, just then, that a renewal 
of their discussion on the subject of Colwell’s proposal 
would be unbearably distasteful to her. 

So, when at this moment Mr. Graybill’s voice from the 
next apartment suddenly summoned his wife away, and 
she -was left alone, she could not help feeling greatly 
relieved. 

For a long, long while, she remained standing by the 
window, looking out into the night; and mingled with 
the many painful thoughts which visited her brain, was 
an occasional flash of light and joy giving her a momen- 
tary glimpse into a strange new world of love and beauty, 
which bewildered while it fascinated her. 

Before she went to bed that night she took out the vol- 
ume of essays which Mr. Rushmore had loaned her and 
read in it far into the morning. 

Once in the course of her reading, the book dropped 
into her lap and she covered her face with her hands. A 
little shiver convulsed her, and a passionate prayer went 
up from her heart. “Oh, let me die before my faith goes 
from me ! ” 

There stared her in the face a horrible vision of the 
long years before her — prayerless, hopeless, faithless; 


196 


THEO WADDINGTON 


the Strong Arm removed from her weak and helpless 
soul; the solace of the Church and of the Bible gone 
from her life, forever ! 

“How can I bear it? It is black, black ! O God, let 
me die before it becomes impossible for me to pray ! I 
am becoming an unbeliever, I feel it, I know it ! I can- 
not resist it ! Take me to Thyself before I am quite 
lost ! 

But she read on. And as she read she grew calmer. 
And before she rested that night, a light had broken in 
upon her soul, a brighter, holier light than that which 
had shone into her heart from behind the illusions of the 
dogmatism which she had passionately prayed to keep. 
These illusions had now faded from her vision and the 
higher truth behind them, illumined her whole horizon. 
Essential Christianity she had not lost nor ever could 
lose. The influence that has come down through the 
centuries from that mysterious luminous spot on the 
black background of the dark past, never can die while 
the world stands. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


107 


CHAPTER VIII 



ELL, dear, how does it feel to be at home again ? ” 


V V asked Mrs. Waddington of her daughter, as on 
the evening of Theo’s arrival at home, the Waddington 
family was gathered around the tea-table. They were a 
re-united household to-night. There was no vacant seat 
at the table except the one made years before when the 
youngest child, little Ambrose, had died. 

The Rev. Dr. Waddington occupied his usual place at 
the foot of the table. He had changed but little in the 
eight years which had elapsed since his first introduction 
to the reader. He was now fifty-five years old and 
seemed still in the prime of his powers, physically and 
mentally. His eyes still flashed with keenness or 
determination and glowed with fervor or enthusiasm. 
His ponderous, broad-shouldered frame was still vigorous 
and energetic, and his hand still firm in emphasizing his 
opinions and his wishe.s. 

The Rev. Harold R. Waddington, Jr., was there, hav- 
ing that day come down from Columbia, where he was 
pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, to welcome his 
sister home after her long absence. He was, as of old, a 
pale, thin, neat young man, bearing the stamp of his pro^ 
fession in his clerical white cravat and in the cut of his 
coat, but also in the unmistakable lines of benediction on 
his face. 


1P8 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Lila, now Mrs. Dr. Brockton, was also present, wear- 
ing on her mild, sweet countenance the evidences of her 
happy wifehood and motherhood. Joe, now a young gen- 
tleman with a beard, and his twin sister, the grave and 
decorous Amy, together with the gentle, serious mother, 
completed the family circle whose attentions were bent 
upon the loved sister and daughter who had just returned 
to them. 

“It feels very precious to be at home again, mother," 
Theo replied, in answer to her mother’s question as she 
looked with radiant eyes upon the dear faces around her. 

The joy of seeing them again had caused an unwonted 
excitement to shine in her dark eyes and to flush her 
usually pale face. Her last few months’ experience in 
the social life of New York had somewhat softened the 
hard reserve to which she had been bred, and taught her 
to be more spontaneous ; so she did not repress the hap- 
piness that swelled her heart as she once would have 
done. The Waddington family had never before seen 
any member of its circle, save the lawful head of the 
house, in so talkative and animated a state as was Theo 
this evening. Ever since they had gathered about the 
table she had been entertaining them with a flow of 
bright narrative and description, such as they had never 
before heard from their usually grave sister. They were 
secretly a little astonished at the unembarassed manner 
in which she led the conversation at the family board 
they were accustomed to having monopolized almost 
entirely by their father. But they were wonderfully well 
entertained by her humorous or thoughtful descriptions of 
people and events and her wise or witty comments by the 
way. They saw her this evening in a new light. The 


THEO WADDINGTON 


109 


Rev. Harold R. Waddington, Jr. felt, as he listened to 
her, that he had heretofore only half-known his sister. 

Dr. Waddington’s eyes scarcely left his daughter’s face 
while she talked. He recognized a change in her of 
which he scarcely approved. He did not know just how 
to feel about the new spirit of independent thought she 
unwittingly revealed in her keen little judgments of per- 
sons she had met and practices she had observed in the 
great metropolis. He had a vague feeling, as he watched 
her glowing face and beautiful bright eyes, that she had 
broken loose from him in some way ; that she had spread 
her own wings and found them strong, and did not now 
so much need to lean upon his superior strength and 
wisdom. 

Once in the course of the meal when Mrs. Waddington 
rang for the maid to take out the tea-urn and refill it, 
Theo glanced across the table and said with a smile — 

“ It does seem amusingly odd to have only one domes- 
tic in the house. I’ve grown so accustomed to seeing 
dozens of them standing around doing nothing.” 

“Well, my dear,” said her mother, “I fear you will 
find our home very poor and simple after your grand 
style of living at Cousin Violet’s.” 

“ It feels very cosy, mother, and will continue to feel 
so for a while, I know. And then ” — 

She paused, picked up her cup and slowly sipped her 
tea. 

“And then.^” abruptly questioned her father, looking 
at her keenly. 

Theo blushed and hesitated. 

“And then, Theo } ” he repeated. 

As though suddenly resolved to speak to him honestly 


200 


THEO WADDINGTON 


and unreservedly, she raised her eyes and frankly met his 
own as she replied — 

<‘And then, father, after a time I suppose I shall begin 
to grow restless and discontented.” 

“Restlessness and discontent are not feelings which a 
Christian woman allows herself to cherish, daughter.” 

“ I do so dislike routine, father, though I see that soci- 
ety rests on that and other falsehoods. The more I tie 
myself down to fixed tasks and hours, the more I weary 
of life, and long to ‘move upon the wing’.” 

“I fear your visit to New York did you no good, 
Theo.” 

“I am sure, father, that it did me much good,” she 
gently corrected. “It has given me a knowledge and a 
discipline I needed. Perhaps,” she gravely added, “I am 
less happy than I was before I went ; but I am less igno- 
rant. I have learned. I have grown.” 

She paused again, but no one answered her. She had 
deliberately differed from an opinion of her father’s, and 
the family was considering the fact in silence. 

Suddenly she looked up again and asked, “Do you 
remember Mr. Rushmore, father.^” 

“Do you mean Horace Rushmore, who is figuring so 
prominently just now in New York politics, and who 
used to board across the street years ago ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“I remember him well. Did you meet him at your 
cousin’s ? ” 

“Yes, father, several times.” 

“You never mentioned it in your letters. Did you see 
much of him I I remember he had something of a pen- 
chant for you when you were a child.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


201 


“I had several long talks with him this winter.” 

Her father again looked at her keenly. 

“Is he still so skeptically inclined as he used to be.?” 

“He is an agnostic, father.” 

“H’m — absurd!” sneered Dr. Waddington, with a 
frown. “Mamma, dear, will you pour me a cup of tea.?” 

“I remember that fellow,” remarked Joe. “He and 
father used to have hot arguments together about evolu- 
tion and the Bible ; and is he really the fellow whom they 
are talking of electing as next governor of New York .?” 

“Yes, Joe,” said Theo. 

“Did you like him, Solomon.? From what I read of 
him in the newspapers I should think he was a regular 
brick.” 

“I think he has some noble traits,” Theo replied; 
“ but he is unhappily married, and it has made him bitter 
and cynical. He has a very fine mind.” 

“Which he has miserably misused,” interrupted Dr. 
Waddington. “ I am sorry, Theo, to have had you 
breathe the same air with a man who dares call himself 
an agnostic. However, I think you are too firmly 
grounded in your faith to be influenced by the sophistries 
of a skeptic.” 

Theo made no reply; she kept her eyes on her plate as 
she gently stirred her tea. 

“Father, don’t you think,” Harold ventured to sug- 
gest, “ that skepticism may sometimes be prompted by a 
very honest doubting and that it is not always necessarily 
the outcome of an evil heart.?” 

“Of course I think nothing of the sort,” emphatically 
and somewhat sternly replied Dr. Waddington. “Don’t 
let me hear you suggest such a thing, my son. A good 


202 


THEO WADDINGTON 


man can no more doubt the Christian faith than he can 
doubt the virtue of his mother. I want to hear no more 
such absurdity from you, Harold.” 

“I beg your pardon, sir, you are right, of course,” 
respectfully acquiesced the son. Harold always deferred 
to his father most reverently in everything and never 
ventured to oppose or contradict him in the least. Stran- 
gers who saw them together were always impressed with 
the filial dutifulness of the Rev. Waddington, Junior. 

But somehow, as Theo observed it on this evening, it 
impressed her unpleasantly, almost painfully. She was 
seeing her father’s household with new eyes to-night. It 
was refreshing indeed, to breathe its atmosphere of sim- 
plicity and earnestness after the artificial, selfish worldli- 
ness in which for weeks she had been living ; but there 
was another spirit in that home which oppressed and 
stifled her; and as she saw her eldest brother meekly 
bow to the will of her father, denying, thereby, his own 
manhood, something stirred her to oppose the domina- 
tion that crushed him and to uphold him in the sugges- 
tion his father had so emphatically set aside. 

“ Honest skepticism,” she said, speaking with an effort 
and blushing deeply, “ is far above blind unthinking acqui- 
escence. One who is never visited by doubts must be 
either very stupid or very lukewarm. And if God sends 
people to Hell for being honest to the nature He Him- 
self has given them, then I hope He will send me there • 
For I want to get away as far as possible from such a 
God.” 

Dr. Waddington laid down his knife and fork and 
looked at her. The rest of the family awaited in awe- 
struck silence the result of this audacity. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


203 


But with a tact learned somewhat from her intimacy 
with her Cousin Violet, Theo averted the impending 
rebuke by suddenly remarking : 

'‘Oh, by the way, father, the Rev. Mr. Udell said I 
should be sure to remember him to you. He would like 
so much to see you again. He suggests, too, that you 
exchange pulpits with him some Sunday.” 

Dr. Waddington’s frown vanished and a look of pleas- 
ure came into his face ; for Mr. Udell was a brother min- 
ister whom he held in very high esteem. 

“Cousin Violet invited him to dine with us the day 
before I came away,” Theo added. 

Her father was completely mollified. Question after 
question he asked concerning his old friend, until he had 
obtained all the information his daughter could give him. 

When the meal was over the family repaired to the 
library and talked and read until it was time for evening 
prayers. Then, how strange it seemed to Theo to take 
up the old threads again and join in the worship to 
which in the past few months she had become a stranger. 
After the prayer had been offered, her father, as was his 
custom, stood by the library door and allowed the mem- 
bers of his family to pass before him to go to their bed- 
rooms, each one pausing for an instant to receive the 
paternal good-night kiss and blessing, a ceremony which 
had been performed in that household with formal precis- 
ion every night of Theo's life. 

“Solomon,” said Joe, as they walked up-stairs together, 
“you’re changed.” 

“ How, Joe, dear } ” 

“You’re not so prim, Solomon. And — and you’ve 
gotten pretty spunky.” 


204 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“I didn’t mean to be, Joe, but ” — 

“Oh, I understand your case,” Joe said, with a knowing 
nod. “You’ve been away from all restraint for so long 
that you can’t get yourself back into it at once. It will 
take a little time. But you will soon be broken in again.” 

“Not entirely, Joe. I shall never again be just as I 
was.” 

Joe looked at her sharply. “You can’t resist father, 
you know, Solomon. You may as well come around at 
once, for you will have to do it in the end, at any rate. 
And now, good-night. It’s awfully jolly to have you 
home again.” 

They kissed each other and separated at the head of 
the stairs, Joe going into his own room and Theo follow- 
ing her mother into her chamber for a last word before' 
leaving her for the night. 

“How good it is, dear, to have you home again,” said 
Mrs. Waddington, as she allowed herself to be held in her 
daughter’s strong arms. 

“And how lovely it is to be able once more to receive 
my mother’s good-night kiss,” Theo said, pressing her 
lips to her mother’s. “Oh, mother, it is so good to feel 
that you all love me. There is nothing in all this great 
world so sweet and precious as love and home.” 

“If your visit to New York has taught you that, Theo, 

I cannot agree with papa that it has done you harm.” 

The chamber door opened and Dr. Waddington stepped 
into the room. At sight of Theo, he drew out his watch 
and held it toward her. 

“Bed-time, my dear. Don’t linger; and,” he added, as 
she walked toward the door, “don’t sit up in your room 
to read.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


205 


A look of amusement came into Theo’s eyes as she 
heard these childish directions. A few months before 
she would have accepted them as a matter of course, and 
would have implicitly obeyed them. 

That night before she went to bed, she sat down in 
her dressing-gown before the window of her little bed- 
room and, in her favorite attitude with her cheek resting 
on her hand and her elbow on the sill, she looked out into 
the quiet, moon-lit street and thought of those nights 
years before in her childhood, when she had been wont to 
watch, every evening, the young law-student’s lamp in 
the boarding-house across the way. 


206 


THEO WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER IX 


HEO knew that the conflict with her father must, in 



1 the course of time, come to pass, however cautious 
and judicious she might be in trying to avoid it. Untrue 
to herself she could not be, and consequently, he must of 
necessity, soon discover her alienation from the traditions 
in which she had been bred so strictly. Dr. Wadding- 
ton’s sharp eyes had not failed to notice ever since his 
daughter’s return home, innumerable nameless little evi- 
dences of the insubordination which lived in her heart. 
The open rupture occurred one Sunday morning after 


church. 


The Waddington family always went to church in a 
body. The Head-of-the-House so ordained it. On this 
particular Sunday morning of which I write, it was found, 
when the household had assembled in the library to start 
out en masse for the church, that Theo was not among 
them. Papa’s scintillating glance having passed over 
them all, he turned to his daughter Amy, who looked very 
sweet and pure, as she stood in her snowy dress of white 
muslin, her Bible in her neatly-gloved hands, and her 
prim, dainty hat set very straight on her smooth, shining 
hair, waiting dutifully for her father’s signal to start out 
for the church. Amy was always perfectly dutiful. 

“Amy, what is detaining your sister asked her 
father. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


207 


“I don’t know, father. Shall I go and see.^” 

‘‘Joe will go. Joe, go up and knock at your sister’s 
door and tell her to make haste.” 

“Solomon is not going to church this morning, sir,” 
Joe replied. “She asked me to tell you all not to wait 
for her.” 

“But we are going to wait for her. Go and tell her to 
get on her bonnet at once.” 

“I think she has a headache, sir,” Joe ventured. 

“ I heard her laughing and talking with you, ten min- 
utes ago. Go, Joe, and tell her I bid her come with us, 
immediately.” 

Joe departed, and in a few moments Theo came down 
arrayed in hat and gloves. 

“You have detained us, Theo,” her father gravely said, 
as he moved toward the door with Mrs. Waddington on 
his arm. “ I fear we shall be late. Let us hasten and 
make up for lost time.” 

“I wish you would excuse me, father.” 

Her father paused with his hand on the door-knob and 
looked at her. 

“ I think every one in my household understands that 
I expect him or her to go to church on Sunday morning, 
except in case of illness,” was his brief reply. 

Theo made no further objection ; and they all started 
off. 

The fact was, this was Communion Sunday; and as 
Dr. Waddington recalled that on the last occasion of the 
elebration of the Holy Supper, Theo had pleaded a 
headache as excuse for remaining at home, the repetition 
of this plea on the recurrence of the time for the sacred 
rite aroused his suspicions. 


208 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Indeed Theo knew that her attendance that morning 
upon a service in which she could not possibly take part, 
would inevitably occasion the outbreak between her 
father and herself which had been impending for so long. 

That was a painful morning to her. In her consci- 
entious struggle to be true to herself, she suffered a 
double pain in her forced disloyalty to her father, and the 
denial of that God-man to whom from infancy she had 
bowed in worship and love. 

When the Communion bread was handed along the 
family pew, she did not take it. With her hands clasped 
in her lap, her eyes downcast, and her face pale and agi- 
tated, she sat with beating heart while the plate was 
passed on to Amy, who sat beyond her. She felt her 
father’s eyes gazing upon her from the pulpit. But she 
did not waver. 

Only those who have some conception of what it is to 
be under a domination such as that which ruled the Wad- 
dington household, can appreciate the strength and cour- 
age exercised by Theo in thus compelling herself to obey 
her higher, rather than her weaker nature. It is resolu- 
tion like this which is exemplified in the legend of Abra- 
ham and his son, and of Jesus and Satan in the mountain. 

On the way home from church, Theo and Joe, who 
walked together, were very quiet. They made no refer- 
ence to the episode of the morning service. Dr. Wad- 
dington, too, as he walked by his wife’s side, was sternly 
silent. He never once glanced at Theo, until they had 
all arrived at the parsonage and had stepped into the 
hall. Then, as he turned and faced her, there was a dan- 
gerous sparkle in his eyes, and when he spoke, his tone 
was abrupt and cold. 


THEO WaDDINGTON 


“Come with me, to my study." 

She felt as though she had suddenly gone back to her 
childhood, so like old times did it seem to be led into 
that revered and dreaded sanctum for judgment. 

When they had entered and he had closed and locked 
the door, he placed a chair for her and motioned her to 
be seated. The decision and abruptness of his move- 
ments in these little actions, indicated to her unmistak- 
ably, the extent of his displeasure with her, and she 
paled and trembled before her stern- judge. Her servility 
to him — the habit of her lifetime — could not be over- 
come without a great struggle. Then, too, she loved 
him, and love, in a nature like hers, is a stronger master 
than fear. Gladly would she have sacrificed the dearest 
wish she had ever known, rather than oppose him ; but 
a higher law than a sense of loyalty and devotion to him, 
compelled her to resistance. 

“Now, Theo, you and I must come to an understand- 
ing," he said, seating himself before her and throwing 
one strong arm over the back of a chair at his side, while 
the other large, white hand- clasped the lapel of his black, 
clerical coat. His attitude and the expression of his face 
made her recall that letter of the young law-student writ- 
ten many years- before, in which he had said of her 
father, “He looked like Pompey when he flogged the 
Hottentots." 

“This morning," he continued, “you did not take the 
Communion. Now what does this mean } What absurd 
notions have you been imbibing in New York this last 
winter ? " 

“Father," Theo slowly replied, “I don’t want to grieve 
you by telling you how I feel about these things. As 


210 


THEO WADDINGTON 


long as you do not see me in any wrong doing, why not 
let me think in my own way ? ” 

“ It is my duty before God to root heresy from out 
my family. You will be influencing your brothers and 
sisters.” 

“I promise not to, father.” 

“ You will be unable to help it, if I do not check this 
thing right in the start. Understand me, Theo, I shall 
tolerate nothing of this sort in my house.” 

“I am no longer a child, father, to accept without 
question whatever is given to me. You must let me 
think for myself.” 

“ Let me help you to think, then, in the right channel. 
Come, tell me what is the matter with your father’s creed 
that you think you cannot accept it.” 

“ Father, where is the good of discussing the matter ? 
You cannot understand me. And I know, beforehand, 
all the arguments you will advance against my objections 
to your faith.” 

“I insist, Theo,” he sternly replied, ‘^upon knowing 
what it is you do not believe, that you feel bound to 
refuse the Holy Communion.” 

Theo looked at the hands in her lap for a moment, 
before she replied. Then she said, speaking slowly — 

“ It is impossible for any honest person who reads any- 
thing of recent biblical criticism to believe in the divine 
inspiration of the Bible. I can no more accept the mira- 
cles of the Gospels than I can those of contemporary 
writings, or of the writings of the following centuries. 
You do not believe that Swedenborg was lifted up into 
Heaven — why do you believe that John was Sweden- 
borg’s account is the more rational of the two.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


211 


“If you deny miracles, what proof have you,” he 
demanded, flashing his bright eyes upon her, “of our 
Lord’s divinity?” 

“The divinity of a being could not for me rest upon 
such material manifestations of power. I could not wor- 
ship a mere miracle worker.” 

“What!” exclaimed Dr. Waddington, his face growing 
very red, “you do not believe in Christ's divinity? You 
deny your Saviour? A child of mine deny the Saviour?” 

“Dear father^ don’t get excited and angry. It isn’t 
anything that I can help.” 

There was such a quiet dignity in her manner as she 
said this that it did subdue him slightly. In his secret 
heart he really admired his daughter’s courage. He was 
so unaccustomed to being contradicted or opposed that 
the novelty of the experience almost surprised his passion 
away. The independence and decision of her character 
he knew she had derived from himself, and his fond pride 
in that fact, tempered somewhat the anger he felt at her 
rank opposition to him, and her wicked presumption in 
doubting the Word of God. Yet his manner was by no 
means calm as he asserted with emphasis : 

“ But, Theo, I know the Bible is true I I know that 
Christ is my Saviour 1 What do I care for biblical criti- 
cism ? I know these things — for they are part of 
myself.” 

“But I do not know them, father — and I must be true 
to myself. You, nor any one else cannot think for me. 
If I am a child of the devil, I must live as such. Some 
one has said : ‘There is a time in every man’s education 
when he arrives at the conviction that imitation is sui- 
cide ; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as 


212 


THE 0 ' WADDING TON 


his fortune ; that though the wide universe is full of good, 
no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through 
his toil bestowed upon that plot of ground which is given 
to him to till.’ ” 

“That is all very well, my dear child — all very well 
indeed. But you have been sadly misled. I shall put 
you through a course of reading that will speedily con- 
vince you of your errors. I cannot endure the thought 
of my dearest daughter going astray in this manner. It 
wounds my pride and hurts my feelings. Theo, you are 
the only one of my children who has ever given me a 
moment of serious anxiety.” 

“I am indeed sorry, father,” Theo humbly replied. 
“But” — and her face flushed as she added, “are you 
entirely satisfied with all your other children V' 

“Entirely,” he promptly replied, rubbing his palms 
together complacently. “They are perfect children. 
They have been well brought up,” bringing one hand 
down upon the other with an emphatic and suggestive 
sound. “And you, Theo, were my proudest possession 
until this recent unfortunate visit to New York.” 

“Do you never realize, father, that your children’s 
minds are not at all self-poised, and that they are almost 
entirely without self-reliance.^” 

“One of my children has entirely too much of what 
she is pleased to call ‘self-reliance’. And she must learn 
at once that her father will never tolerate it. The next 
time we have Communion, I shall insist upon your taking 
it. I cannot for a moment believe that you will openly 
defy my commands.” 

Theo’s face grew a trifle paler, as she again looked 
down into her lap ; but she answered nothing. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


21 ?, 


*<Theo, are you going to obey me in this matter?” 

She raised her sad eyes to his face, and bravely 
answered : 

wish I could, father; but it is impossible. You 
would not have me violate my conscience?” 

He rose abruptly and strode across the room. “ Would 
to God I had never allowed you to go away from me for a 
day. I shall have trouble with you, Theo — I see it, I 
shall have trouble with you ! ” 

“Father, dear,” she said, as her wide-open eyes fol- 
lowed his restless figure while it paced to and fro across 
the room, “if only you would not take this matter so 
to heart. If only you would realize that these external 
things have no value in themselves.” 

“Do not argue the matter with me,” he abruptly 
retorted. “ If you were ten years younger, Theo, I 
should secure your submission by very summary meas- 
ures. As it is” — he paused, laid his hand upon his 
writing-table and looked at her keenly, “ you may go to 
your room and remain there until I send you permission 
to leave it.” 

Theo’s handkerchief went to her lips to conceal the 
involuntary smile which covered her face as she heard 
this childish penalty. But she instantly controlled her 
temptation to laugh, and as she rose to obey him, her 
face was perfectly serious. Her father stood in silence 
by his table and watched her walk across the room to the 
door. 

When she had left him alone, he re-commenced his 
pacing to and fro; and one might have judged from the 
rapidity and firmness of his step, from the frown on his 
brow and from the decision with which he clasped the 


214 


THEO WADDINGTON 


lapel of his coat, how intense were his feelings. Theo 
herself, extremely sensitive and affectionate, as she was, 
did not feel more grief than he, at the alienation which 
had sprung up between them. Yet neither of them 
could yield to the other. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


215 


CHAPTER X 

I N the weeks that ensued, every one in the Waddington 
family felt the difference that had sprung up between 
its two members. In Dr. Waddington’s mind there was 
a constant warfare between the conflicting feelings of 
his heart toward his daughter. At one time chagrin at 
being unable to control her, would triumph over his natu- 
ral affection and the respect he instinctively felt for her 
firmness and strength ; and then his treatment of her 
would be cruelly harsh and cold. At another time, a 
genuine admiration of her bright intellect and strong 
character would exceed even his love of ruling, and would 
mould his manner toward her into a deference which he 
paid to almost no one else. Yet again, the great love he 
bore this dearest of all his children would triumph over 
the anger which he felt against her, and remorse at hav- 
ing treated her with severity would change his conduct to 
the utmost gentleness and tenderness. 

Thus was Theo kept in a constant state of uncertainty 
as to what the treatment would be which she should from 
day to day receive from her father. His fitful moods 
succeeded each other without law or order. 

Under these conditions, it is scarcely needful to men- 
tion, she was not happy in her home. Month after 
month passed by without any change in her relation to 
her father. He would not abandon his efforts to bend 


216 


THEO WADDINGTON 


her to his will and bring her again into perfect obedience 
to the Christian creed. And she, however tried and har- 
assed, would not and could not waver in her loyalty to 
what she believed to be the truth. So in the course of 
time she became weary and worn with the conflict. Her 
robust figure lost some of its perfect symmetry; her face 
became even paler than was its wont ; her eyes grew 
bigger and their drowsy light became a dark, mournful 
shadow. She grew nervous, and started at the sound of 
her father’s foot-steps, and was easily moved to tears by 
his coldness. 

So watchful an eye as Dr. Waddington’s could not fail 
to observe these changes in her. He was, therefore, not 
very much surprised when one evening she came to him 
in his study and told him of a resolution which had for 
some time past, been forming in her mind. 

He had been busily writing at a very profound dis- 
course on “Belief in the Miraculous”, which he meant 
to deliver to his congregation on the following Sunday 
morning — when he was interrupted by Theo’s knock 
and entrance into his room. As she stepped across the 
floor to his table, he noticed, with a pang, how pale 
and sad she looked. The dark gown which she wore 
enhanced the pallor of her fine face, making it look 
almost unearthly in its serious thoughtfulness. 

“May I interrupt you, father, for a few moments.?” 

For answer, he rose, wheeled a comfortable chair to 
the table, and motioned her to be seated. He resumed 
his own seat, leaned his elbow on the table and his fore- 
head on his fingers, and looked at her inquiringly. 

“Father, I want to go away from home.” 

“Where.?” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


217 


“To New York — to teach in a young ladies’ seminary. 
Cousin Violet has secured a position for me in the Rev. 
Mr. Udell’s boarding-school. You remember the Rev. 
Mr. Udell .? ” 

“ Certainly. A very fine man. His seminary is a 
good church school and its influence might give the bene- 
fit which I have striven in vain to give you ; I can’t say 
that I object to your going.” 

Theo’s face brightened. She had expected some 
opposition. 

“Then may I really go, father.!*” 

“I shall not oppose you, Theo.” 

“ And may I go as soon as I please ! ” 

“Yes. What shall you teach V 

“Latin and English Literature, and I shall receive 
seven hundred dollars a year and my home in the 
school. Cousin Violet is very much opposed to my 
‘working for a living’, as she expresses it, but, neverthe- 
less, she aided me in getting the position.” 

“Why do you wish to go, my daughter.^” 

“Can you wonder that I wish to go away, father.!* I 
am very unhappy at home.” 

“It is all the fault of your own obstinacy, Theo.” 

“Father,” she remonstrated, “I am sure you know I 
have never been obstinate in this trouble between us. I 
am sure you know that my motives have been sincere 
and upright.” 

He did not answer. He could not deny it, neither 
could he bring himself to acknowledge it. All his life 
long he had been accustomed to thinking of unbelievers 
as abandoned sinners, and the living contradiction of this 
idea in his pure and noble daughter, whose very “infidel- 


218 


THEO WADDJNGTON 


ity” could not fail to appear, to even the most obtuse 
mind, as prompted by the highest principles of con- 
duct — even this proof before his eyes of the absurdity of 
his notion respecting skeptics” could not quite disarm 
him of his deep-rooted prejudices. 

He rose and began to pace back and forth across the 
room. Theo watched in silence the strong, broad-shoul- 
dered figure as it moved about before her. Her heart 
ached for the pain she knew she caused him. What 
useless suffering he gave himself ! How very much of 
our suffering in this life, when we look back upon it, 
from a distance, seems trivial and causeless, and even 
absurd. And yet, however unreal may be the occasion 
for our pain, our agony itself is a reality which our stern 
philosophy cannot drive away. 

And so, as Theo sadly watched her father, her heart 
swelled with the strong love which she bore to this great, 
ponderous, domineering master of his family. How she 
did love him! Every hair of his proud head was dear 
and sacred to her. How she longed to yield to him the 
dutiful submission which he demanded ! 

He paused suddenly in his walk about the room and 
met the earnest look with which she was regarding him. 
Something in its strangely-mingled melancholy and affec- 
tion caused him to step to her side and lay his strong, 
tender hand, upon her head. 

“My darling, I don’t like to part with you.” 

She took his other hand in both her own and laid it 
against her cheek as she looked up into his face. 

“It will be better for us to be apart for a time, father.” 

“Promise me that you will not stay long.” 

Theo was silent. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


219 


“You will come back soon, won’t you, my child?” 

“Whenever you bid me, father.” 

“ And promise me, too, that you will not work too hard. 
Teaching is very wearing work. I once taught a country 
school for a month, when I was a young man — and I 
won’t venture to say how many boys I flogged in 
the first week. There is nothing more wearing than 
school-teaching.” 

“I shall not be likely to exhaust myself by flogging 
the young ladies, father.” 

“ Probably not. Of one more thing let me warn you. 
Never feel that you are dependent upon your salary. I 
shall always supply you with all that you need. You do 
not realize how much more independent you will feel in 
your work knowing that you can throw up your position 
whenever you are so inclined. One who teaches for a 
salary is a slave. And now,” he added in conclusion, “I 
am inclined to feel that this experience is going to do you 
good. Udell is a fine fellow, a very fine fellow. And a 
successful fellow.” 

Dr. Waddington had small respect for anyone who was 
not successful. 

“He is young and good-looking,” he added; “and he 
is not married, is he, Theo ?” 

“No,” she answered, quite unsuspicious of the matri- 
monial plot which was brewing in her father’s mind. 

That night before he slept. Dr. Waddington pon- 
dered long over his daughter’s possible prospects in 
going into Mr. Udell’s school. 

“ She is very attractive. He will fall in love with her. 
He is a man of strong character and she will return his 
loye. His influence will bring her back into the true 


220 


THEO WADDINGTON^ 


faith. A man can always make the woman who loves 
him, agree with him. She will forget all about these 
absurd notions which during the past year have annoyed 
me so much.” 

But in the bottom of his heart he was not so sure of all 
these pleasant anticipations. Theo’s clear mind and sto- 
ical conscientiousness could not be depended upon to 
submit to influences which he knew would easily subdue 
the average feminine mind and heart. However, Udell 
stood so high in his esteem that he could not help hoping 
for good results from his daughter’s association with that 
divine. 


THEO WDDAINGTON- 


221 


CHAPTER XI 

I N answer to Theo’s knock at the oflfice-door, Mr. Udell 
admitted her, and not being quite ready for his inter- 
view with her, he bade her sit down and wait until he 
should have concluded his conversation with the other 
member of the Faculty with whom he had been closeted 
during the past fifteen minutes. As Theo listened to the 
discussion between these two, she was able to form some 
notion of the Principal’s manner of dealing with his 
teachers, and also of the teachers’ obsequiousness toward 
the Principal. 

“Before you go. Miss Greenleaf, there is one more 
point of which I wish to speak. Yesterday afternoon the 
house was too noisy between the hours of four and five.” 

He leaned back in his revolving chair and stared at 
Miss Greenleaf with the cold, steady look from which 
Theo remembered to have shrunk in her childhood. 

“It was your hour on guard, I believe.^” he added. 
“Yes, Mr. Udell, it was my hour on guard. But I 
was ill yesterday afternoon and had to resign my duties 
to the Matron, and of course the girls won’t mind her. I 
am exceedingly sorry if the house was noisy.” 

“Yes. We don’t expect our teachers to become ill. 
We are not in the habit of employing invalids to perform 
the work of this house,” he said, in his peculiarly cool, 
deliberate, obstinate manner. 


222 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“ I am really very sorry, Mr. Udell. I trust it won’t 
occur soon again. But really, I had such a throbbing 
headache that ” — 

“Yes, spare us, if you please, a recitation of your ail- 
ments. When the time for your guard duties comes 
around again, please see that the house is quiet.” 

“I shall try to do so, Mr. Udell. But really,” she 
added, with a smile that was meant to be a mixture of 
playfulness and coaxingness, “it is something in my 
favor, that my being off duty made a perceptible change 
in the order of the house. When the cat’s away the 
mice will play, you know.” 

Theo thought the quotation not inappropriate in the 
case of the stealthy, suspicious, watchful Miss Greenleaf, 
who was proud of her cat-like qualities. 

“It shows, too,” added the poor flatterer, “how neces- 
sary for the order of the house are all the rules which you 
require us to enforce. I have been in many schools, Mr. 
Udell, but never in one so well managed as this one. 
Your ideas of discipline coincide entirely with mine. 
This thing of putting girls on their honor” — 

“A thing of which the feminine character is entirely 
devoid,” inserted Mr. Udell with a malicious smile. 

“I almost agree with you in that opinion,” said Miss 
Greenleaf, with a sad shake of her head. “ If it is your 
firm conviction I do agree with you; for you do not 
come to conclusions without due consideration, and ” — 

“A due consideration of your feelings. Miss Green- 
leaf,” he interrupted, “ might lead me to indulge you in 
this conversation for half an hour longer. But a due 
consideration of my own, compels me to request you 
to leave the field, now, to your fellow-worker. Miss 


THEO WADDINGTON 


223 


Waddington. Good-evening, Miss Greenleaf. Remem- 
ber next guard-day, no illness and a quiet house.” 

He lazily rose, pushed the door open for her, and 
allowed her to pass out. Then re-seating himself in his 
chair, he slowly revolved it, until he faced Miss Wadding- 
ton. She was seated before him on a reclining chair, her 
hands clasped in her lap, and her dark eyes shining out 
from her pale face with a look which Mr. Udell could not 
quite fathom, but which made him feel a little less com- 
placent in the prospect of dealing with her than he had 
been in snubbing poor Miss Greenleaf. But he promptly 
shook off this feeling. Miss Waddington needed to be 
subdued. 

He fixed his unpleasant eyes upon her and said in a 
slow, measured tone : 

“This evening in study-hour, Miss Waddington, you 
were reading a book of poetry.” 

“Yes; Matthew Arnold’s poetry. Are you familiar 
with it, and do you like it } ” 

“Matthew Arnold’s poetry is very well in its place. 
But its place is not in the school-room during study-hour.” 

“Why.^” she asked, calmly meeting his eye. 

“You were not attending to your duty this evening 
while you were reading.” 

“Did you find the school-room in disorder when you 
came in } ” 

“The room was quiet. But you were not watching 
the girls, so how do you know that notes were not being 
passed, signs made, letters written, and novels read.^* 
You should be on the watch every minute.” 

“It is insulting to young ladies to watch them like 
that. I can’t do it.” 


224 


THEO WADDINGTON 


I require the teachers in my school to do it,” he said, 
with a slight, lingering emphasis on the word “require.” 

Theo made no reply. 

“Do you attend me. Miss Waddington ^ I say I require 
my teachers to so narrowly watch the pupils of the school, 
that the slightest violation of the rules- will be impossible.” 

“And you do not think such treatment injurious to 
these young girls 

“That is for me to decide. Miss Waddington. My 
order to you is, do not trust a single girl — and I expect 
you to obey it.” 

“I can’t obey it, Mr. Udell,” she replied, with a quiet 
dignity ; “ because I do feel confidence in the girls. I 
know that the majority of them are trustworthy. I can’t 
consent to injure myself and them by distrusting them.” 

Mr. Udell had probably never before been thus spoken 
to by any teacher in his employ. The novelty of the 
thing he found rather entertaining. He liked nothing 
better than to overcome an obstacle ; and so, with no lit- 
tle interest he bent his energies upon the subduing of 
this strong, self-respecting young lady by whom he found 
himself opposed. The quiet, cool persistency with which 
he always went about the conquering of difficulties, usu- 
ally won for him complete success. He rarely failed in 
anything he attempted to do. Theo’s father generally 
won his way through his impulsive, hot-blooded enthusi- 
asm ; Mr. Udell, through his passionless obstinacy. The 
latter usually felt the most profound contempt for the 
teachers in his school ; but in the case of Miss Wadding- 
ton there was mixed with the interest he had in her a 
spark of genuine admiration for the spirit she showed. 

“You are faulty in disciplining. Miss Waddington,” 


THEO WADDINGTON 225 

he said, “very faulty. There is not a single girl in the 
school who is not fond of you.” 

“You think that in order to be a successful disciplina- 
rian one must make one’s self obnoxious to one’s pupils } 
I am very glad, then, that in your estimation I am a 
failure.” 

“ In order to be a successful disciplinarian one must, as 
I have said, distrust every girl.” 

“I despise a teacher who cannot place confidence in 
her pupils. I believe it is more her fault than that of the 
pupils. It is better for me and for the girls that I should 
occasionally be deceived than that our relation should be 
that of a policeman and a thief. Why, the teachers in 
this school actually enjoy discovering a girl in some 
wrong-doing. They gloat over a culprit as a lion over 
its prey. The girls all feel that. They find nothing in 
the teachers which is in sympathy with their young life. 
They are fond of me, because I am not as yet, a profes- 
sional, but am still a woman. I am natural with them 
and they feel me to be akin to them. They realize that 
I am full of sympathy with them in their fun as well as 
in their work, and I am human enough to feel a little 
sympathy even with some of their naughtiness, especially 
when it is directed against those teachers who are so 
very fond of making them unhappy.” 

“This, Miss Waddington, is, absolute treason.” 

“Now that I think about it,” Theo calmly replied, 
“my methods (which I have learned from no profound 
pedagogical work, but which are the outcome of my natu- 
ral impulse) are more successful than those followed by 
the other teachers in this house. Annabel Harrington, 
whom no one else can manage, is implicitly obedient to 


226 


THEO WADDINGTON 


me. When I am on guard the house is always quieter 
than at other times. None of the pupils are ever disre- 
spectful to me as they are to the other teachers.” 

“I am curious to learn how you managed to conquer 
Annabel Harrington,” Mr. Udell condescended to ask. 

Theo smiled as she looked down in her lap and toyed 
with a cord which hung from her waist. “I must have 
something of my father’s nature in me,” she said, “to 
have been able to bring that wild girl so completely 
under my control.” 

Mr. Udell regarded her curiously. “How did you go 
about it ” 

“ Well, when she failed to prepare her lessons, I doub- 
led the amount and compelled her to recite to me in rec- 
reation hour. She now prepares all her lessons perfectly. 
When I read to my class and she disturbed me by mak- 
ing the girls laugh at some of her comical tricks, I gave 
her the book and let her do the reading. When she 
‘cut’ her practice periods, I had her make up double the 
amount of time in recreation period.” 

“I didn’t think you could be so relentless. I wonder 
she is so fond of you.” 

“She is comparatively subdued now — but we have 
been the best of friends through it all. I avoid an 
unpleasant manner even in dealing with culprits. Don’t 
imagine,” she added, gravely, “that I am very self-satis- 
fied with my methods of dealing with the girls. I am 
painfully conscious of my own short-comings in view of 
my grave responsibilities.” 

“There is one duty of which you are especially neg- 
lectful,” he said, fixing his eyes upon her with that look 
which usually made his victim afraid to oppose him. “I 


THEO WADDINGTON 


227 


am told that when you inspect the young ladies’ rooms 
you never open their drawers and closets.” 

Theo’s face flushed as she promptly answered : 

“Don’t ever ask me to do that, Mr. Udell.” 

“I require every teacher in this school in examining 
the order of the rooms, to search the drawers and closets 
of the pupils. This not only prevents untidiness, but 
also the concealment of forbidden sweets and prohibited 
literature.” 

“I can’t do it. The pupils of this school are too old 
to be treated with such ignominy.” 

“Will you please leave that to my judgment.? I 
require you to do it. There is nothing more to be said 
on the subject.” 

Theo rose from her chair. Her comment on his 
requirement astonished him. 

“ I think you will have to accept my resignation, Mr. 
Udell. I see that you and I can never work together.” 

Never before had a teacher presented her resignation 
unless asked to do so by himself. The very idea of one 
of his employees offering to leave because she was dis- 
pleased with his management, instead of visa versa ! It 
was like having a luscious plum snatched from his lips. 
And yet, she had never looked handsomer to him, than 
she did at this moment, as she stood before him tall and 
queenly in her pale, spiritual beauty. He had no idea of 
allowing her to go. He wanted her to stay. But how 
should he let himself gracefully out of his difficulty .? 

“Miss Waddington,” he said, speaking more court- 
eously than he had been doing hitherto in their inter- 
view, “please be seated again — I have something to 
say to you.” 


228 


THEO WADDINGTON 


He paused, and after an instant’s hesitation, she sat 
down. 

I do not want to lose you. I am willing to give you 
another trial.” 

“ I do not think we can possibly work together, Mr. 
Udell, I am so entirely out of sympathy with your man- 
ner of dealing with the girls.” 

His concessions were being rejected! He tried once 
more. 

“You are a good teacher, a very good teacher; I grant 
that readily, and I really wish to retain you in my 
school.” 

Theo was thoughtfully silent for a moment. Then she 
said : 

“There is one condition upon which I will remain.” 

“Well.?” 

“Relieve me from all work that is not strictly 
scholastic.” 

“I intended myself to suggest that,” he answered; 
“ not only because I think you have too much to 
do” — 

“I have no more than the other teachers,” she inter- 
rupted, pinning him down to the truth. 

“But because,” he stolidly continued, “to an artistic 
temperament such as I surmise yours to be, the guard 
duties are necessarily more fretting and distasteful than 
to a more phlegmatic disposition. Consider yourself 
exempt, now, from all work that is not strictly scholastic.” 

Theo inclined her head in acknowledgment and again 
rose to go. 

“Sit still for a few moments,” he urged. “It is not 
yet late.” 


T//EO WADD/NGTON- 


229 


^‘But I must write home before I go to bed,” she 
objected. “Now I want to ask you,” she added, “about 
a matter that has troubled me this evening. Little Lucy 
Rushmore pleaded for permission to have a light in her 
room until she should fall asleep, because she was home- 
sick and afraid of the dark, and I allowed her. to keep it. 
Of course you think I did wrong.?” 

“Yes. But you will hereafter have no opportunity 
to commit such errors, since the pupils will no longer 
apply to you for any permissions whatever, your duties, 
in the future, being entirely scholastic. I suppose,” he 
suddenly added, “you remember seeing little Lucy when 
you were in New York over a year ago.?” 

“Yes.” 

“ She is very young to be sent away to school. As we 
have no other small children here, the little thing will 
have no companions. But her father tells me she will 
scarcely miss that, as she never has had any playmate 
except himself. He makes a great pet of her. She is to 
go home every Saturday and Sunday.” 

“She seems such a melancholy little one,” Theo said. 
“ She will be lonely and frightened among all our great 
girls. I shall do all I can to make the poor child 
contented.” 

“I believe you did not like Rushmore when you 
met him here, did you .? ” he asked, looking at her 
narrowly. 

“ In common with every one else, I admired his tal- 
ents,” Theo replied, evasively. 

“He was very unhappily married,” remarked Udell, 
who, among some other of his unpleasant character- 
istics, revealed, occasionally, a not unclerical love of 


280 


THRO WADDTNGTON 


gossip. “It embittered him. He plunged into the 
severest labor to drown his trouble, and into excessive 
dissipations as well,” he added, significantly. “ Rush- 
more has tried every sort of pleasure — innocent, and 
otherwise.” 


THEO WADDINGTON' 


231 


CHAPTER XII 



HE announcement was made, a short time after this 


1 incident, that Mr. Rushmore was to visit his daugh- 
ter at the school. The day previous to the one he was 
expected Theo undertook guard duty for Miss Ross, who 
was called away by the sickness of her sister. 

It was with a sense of relief that she rang the last 
retiring bells that night. Her next and final duty was 
to promenade the halls and see that in every room 
the lights had been extinguished. She walked rather 
absently down the darkened halls, glancing at the tran- 
som of each door as she went. In number sixteen she 
observed a bright light. The rule of the school required 
her to impose a penalty upon tardiness in turning off the 
gas. 

^H’m sure,” thought she, *‘I heard Lucy say at dinner 
this evening, that she was going to sleep in Marion 
Davis’ room to-night.” 

She paused an instant before knocking at the door. 
She thought she perceived the odor of a cigar. But she 
at once put that notion from her as a mere imagination. 
A suggestion of the true explanation of the case never 
dawned upon her. 

‘"Lucy!” she called, as she rapped and shook the 
knob. 

There was no response ; and the light still burned. 


232 


THEp WADDTNGTON 


“ Lucy ! The last bells have rung. Put out your 
light, my dear, at once, whether you are undressed or 
not.” 

She waited then, for an instant ; but the light still 
burned and no one answered. 

“She has gone to Marion Davis’ room,” thought Theo, 
“and has forgotten to put out her light. I suppose I 
shall have to give her an order-mark for that. But I 
must turn off her gas for her.” 

She opened the door and stepped into the room. She 
walked slowly across the floor, and had actually reached 
the middle of the apartment before she discovered sud- 
denly that there was someone in the room. There, in 
front of the hearth, in a large leather chair, sat a. man 
with an open book lying on his knee. But he was not 
reading it. His eyes were fixed upon the intruder. One 
hand was thrust between the buttons of his coat, while 
the other hung loosely over the arm of his chair with a 
cigar clasped between two fingers. 

Theo’s look of consternation upon discovering him was 
too much for his gravity, and he burst out laughing. 
There was a genuine ring in his mirth which fell upon 
her ear with an odd sound. She had been wont to hear 
him laugh scornfully, sarcastically, cynically, but mirth- 
fully — never. 

His amusement was very transitory, however; he 
became grave again, almost instantly, as he rose and held 
out his hand. 

“How do you happen to be here?” she asked, still 
looking distressed, as she gave him her hand. “I 
thought you were coming to-morrow.” 

“That sounds cordial. Miss Waddington. The guest 


THEO VVADDINGTON- 


233 


chamber was not ready for me, so Lucy gave me her 
room. She has gone to Miss Marion Davis’ room for 
the night.” 

“Oh !” breathed Theo, sinking into the chair which he 
placed for her. The shock of encountering Mr. Rush- 
more in this unexpected fashion quite robbed her of her 
strength, and she felt almost too weak to stand. But she 
rose again instantly, and said, abruptly, as she turned 
away from him : 

“Pardon this intrusion, I must go.” 

“No, you must not,” he said, peremptorily, and in a 
tone which compelled her to turn again and meet his eye. 

“Now don’t be conventional, but sit down and talk 
with me. I want to hear what you’ve been doing during 
the past year, that is, with your intellect.” 

She hesitated an instant, and glanced down uneasily 
at her loose, long-trained bed-room gown which, however 
becoming it might be, was not the sort of costume in 
which young ladies usually appeared before gentlemen. 
But the arbitrary look in his black eyes controlled her, 
and she once more sat down. 

He, too, reseated himself, rested his elbows on the arms 
of his chair and fitted together the tips of his fingers with 
a look and manner which betrayed the satisfaction and 
interest he felt in the present state of affairs. 

“Have you been letting it stagnate — your intellect, I 
mean No,” he added, looking at her intently, “that 
would be impossible for you. If there were no books 
left in the world, your intellect would still go on growing. 
It is of that nature that it cannot rest, but must forever 
be moving on to new points of view. Few women are 
like that. Even the brightest of them wall themselves in 


234 


THEO WADDINGTON 


behind a set of ideas and never come out from their bul- 
wark, no matter how fierce the assault from without.” 

Something in his appearance and in the tone of his 
voice revealed to her that a change had come over him 
since last she had talked with him. His eyes were still 
sharp and penetrating, but there was a deeper melancholy 
in them than there had been before ; and although his 
voice was yet firm and commanding, there was a subdued 
gravity in it which puzzled her. She wondered what had 
wrought this change. She remembered Mr. Udell had 
told her that Rushmore had “tried every sort of pleas- 
ure — innocent and otherwise,” and she wondered if he 
were very dissipated. She thought he did not look like 
a dissipated man. “At any rate,” she concluded, as she 
looked at his high brow, over which his long locks of 
black hair fell in confusion, and into his honest, brilliant 
eyes; “at any rate, there is nothing mean in his nature, 
and if he sins he does it on a large and magnanimous 
scale, in so Napoleonic a manner, that criticism is lost in 
astonishment at his daring.” 

“I have tried,” she replied to his question, “not. to 
‘stagnate’, but I’m afraid I don’t realize much growth.” 

“I was rather disgusted with you,” he said, candidly, 
“when I heard you had come into this Presbyterian 
school to teach. The life of a school-mistress is a very 
staid, colorless existence. You who love and appreciate 
beauty so much (despite your Puritanical rearing), how 
can you endure to settle down into this monotonous rou- 
tine, among a set of raspy spinsters } ” 

“ Most of them are very intellectual women,” she 
gravely replied, “and know a great deal more than I do.” 

“No doubt. But how much soul do they have.^^” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


235 


“Not much,” she agreed with a sigh. “But I am con- 
stantly reproaching myself that I cannot be content with 
a purely intellectual life. I must needs have color and 
warmth to make me happy. The student’s life will suf- 
fice me for a time, just as in art, gray and white tones 
are deliciously restful to the eye for a while, but one 
must now and then have a bit of brightness.” 

“That discontent for which you reproach yourself, is 
the divinest thing in human nature. Without it there 
would be no progress. We ought to be discontented.” 

“Is there, then, no satisfaction, no perfect happiness.?” 

“ Has anyone ever found it .? ” he asked. 

“It must exist somewhere,” she said, “else its shadow 
would not be constantly haunting us.” 

“Somewhere,” he repeated. “But where.? That is 
the great mystery.” 

“There are rare moments when we do really catch it,” 
she said with a sudden glow; “there are times when a 
sense of the beauty of the universe drives from my soul 
every bitterness. At such times I rejoice in the spirit of 
life that is in me, and am glad to be alive. But alas ! 
more often I am unable to escape from the conviction 
that my own and many other lives are rather worthless.” 

“The majority of men,” he said, throwing back his 
head and tossing the long locks of hair out of his eyes, 
“live only to wear out their boots. When they die they 
have not left a scratch on the surface of the earth. In 
view of all that we see around us in the world, how can 
we delude ourselves, as do the worshippers of humanity, 
into thinking that human life is always a blessed boon .? 
Well,” he added, abruptly changing the subject, and sud- 
denly throwing into his voice his old-time, mocking sar- 


THEO WADDINGTON 


23fi 

casm, “ I suppose this Presbyterian household quite suits 
your taste in some respects, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ In what respects ? ” 

“The principal is a pious fellow. No doubt you 
admire and like him very much, don’t you } You have 
a penchmit for the cloth, I think. And then the religious 
atmosphere of the house, the Bible reading, long prayers, 
etc., just suit you exactly, I should think.” 

There was a scarcely perceptible ridicule in his tone 
which she resented, not on her own account, but because 
if she had countenanced it, it would have seemed to her 
that she was dishonoring her father. She could never 
feel anything but reverence for the faith upon which she 
had been reared, however impossible it might now be for 
her to accept its dogmas. 

“It seems odd to me,” she said, ignoring his ques- 
tions, “that you should send Lucy here to have her mind 
‘perverted with Calvinism’.” 

“I had my reasons for sending her here,” he replied, 
looking at her very directly. “What have you done to 
the child.?” he abruptly added. “What witchcraft have 
you cast upon her.? She talks of you incessantly, when- 
ever .she comes home to me. I am almost jealous.” 

Theo looked gratified. “ I am delighted to know she 
is so fond of me. I love Lucy.” 

A look suddenly came into his eyes when he heard her 
say that, which deepened the color in Theo’s cheeks. It 
was the old soft look of tenderness and kindliness which 
had characterized his face years before in his student 
days in York, and which the experiences of later years 
had transformed to the cold, stern cynicism which hurt 
while it fascinated her. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


He leaned slightly toward her, as he bent this un- 
wonted look upon her, and said in a grave, gentle tone 
which set her nerves to tingling : 

“Thank you for saying that. Miss Waddington. I 
know you mean it. You have been very kind to my lit- 
tle girl. I am grateful to you.” 

It was rare to hear him speak like that. She felt no 
little regret when immediately changing his tone, he 
added, with his former light mockery, “But I want a 
reply to my questions. Do you find this school-life con- 
genial } And what do you think of his reverence, the 
Cloth.?” 

“I don't find the school-life very congenial, and yet, I 
am comparatively interested and happy here.” 

“And Mr. Udell.? — come, tell me, do you like him.? 
Lucy says the teachers and the girls all call you the 
‘Prime Favorite of the Faculty’.” 

“I scarcely know whether I like him or not. Yes, I 
think I do. Of course he has some objectionable traits 
of character, but who has not.?” 

“ I suppose you would not at all agree with your Ger- 
man professor, who told me this evening that he would 
like this school very much, but for one thing. ‘Too much 
pray’, he said, in his broken English, dolefully shaking 
his head, ‘too much pray, too much pray’.” 

“Professor is funny,” observed Theo, smiling. “This 
morning I overheard him in one of his German violent 
tempers, exclaiming to a poor victim in one of his classes, 
‘Meez Arnold, if you zay dat again I vill project you out 
of ze window! You drive nails into my coffin I You 
make my hair to turn vite I ’ And our teacher of elocu- 
tion,” she added, with a laugh, ‘'have you met him .?” 


THEO WADDINGTON 




“No. Tell me about him,” he replied, letting his eyes 
rest upon her with a twinkle of amusement in them. It 
was as delicious as it was unusual to hear her laugh 
merrily. 

“He is an oddity,” she continued. “He has aspira- 
tions toward the stage ; plays parts of Hamlet and King 
Lear to the admiration of some otherwise respectable 
people. He has his photograph taken as Hamlet with a 
very much Hamlet look in his eyes, and goes about town 
with a ‘ to-be-or-not-to-be ’ intensity of manner that is com- 
ical. Even his most ordinary conversation has a dra- 
matic twang to it, and he talks always as if he were mak- 
ing a speech. He belongs to a Browning Society which 
the teachers have instituted, and his exposition of Rob- 
ert’s poems are more startling than some of the poems 
themselves. Whenever I have the requisite 'amount of 
energy, I dislike him intensely, for I do hate pretense of 
any kind.” 

“I observe a change in you,” was his comment upon 
this account, as he looked at her keenly. “I used to 
think you entirely without any sense of humor. Life 
was an intensely serious matter with you a year and 
a half ago — inevitable effect of your Presbyterianism. 
Are your natural tendencies getting the better of the 
influence of that pernicious system ? ” 

A knock at the door prevented her from answering 
him. She instinctively called “come in”, forgetting 
that she was not the possessor of the room. The door 
opened, and to the surprise of both of them, Mr. Udell 
appeared on the threshold. 

The Rev. John Udell rarely showed astonishment at 
anything. But the unusual sight of a young lady in a 


THEO VVADDINGTON 


239 


loose dressing-gown, closeted with young Rushmore in 
his bedroom, did betray him into emitting a sparkle from 
his cold, quiet eyes, which, if Theo had seen it, would 
have made her face turn hot with embarrassment. As it 
was, however, her interest in the conversation which had 
been going on, had quite driven from her mind the fact 
that she was dishabille^ and that propriety would natu- 
rally frown upon her being in Mr. Rushmore’s room. So 
without the slightest evidence of feeling conscious of any 
indiscretion, she met Udell’s glance, as he came into the 
room, with a very frank smile. Rushmore, who had 
observed the minister’s cold look of surprise and disap- 
proval, watched with amusement the effect upon him of 
Theo’s unembarrassed manner. She rose, however, as he 
reached her side, and said, glancing at Rushmore — 

must go now, and leave you with Mr. Udell; I have 
staid here too long, already. The girls may possibly be 
taking advantage of my forgetfulness.” 

‘*Pray don’t let me drive you off,” Udell said in a tone 
of irony, which, however, did not disturb Theo, for in her 
innocence and unconsciousness of wrong she did not 
even perceive it. 

“I must really go,” she replied, as she moved toward 
the door, her long, loose gown giving to her figure the 
grace and dignity of a Grecian goddess. Udell’s eyes 
followed the gown in stern disapprobation. Rushmore 
was glad to conceal his amusement at the little scene, in 
springing up to open the door for the Grecian goddess to 
pass out. 


240 


THEO WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER XIII 

I T was one evening about two weeks later that a feeling 
of homesickness came upon Theo. At least, so it 
was she interpreted the restless mood which made it 
impossible for her to settle herself, after twilight prayers 
in the school-room, to her school-tasks in her own little 
study. Like an uneasy spirit she had wandered through 
the dim halls, down the wide, front stairway, through the 
long, stiffly-arranged public parlors, and had finally found 
her way to the library, the cosiest room in the house, 
after her own study. The few girls who had encountered 
her in these wanderings, had at once upon joining their 
companions, excitedly reported the fact ; for her influ- 
ence upon them all was of that mysterious character 
which made everything which Miss Waddington said and 
did of the most vital interest. Every article of dress 
which she wore, her every little peculiarity of manner and 
speech, and every thought of hers which she gave to 
them, was studied over, discussed, repeated and pro- 
nounced charming.” 

“You should have seen her just now!” one enthusias- 
tic young girl confided to her room-mate, in an awe- 
struck whisper. “ She had such a strange look in her 
eyes. They sparkled so, that as I came toward her in 
the dark hall it seemed as though two bright stars were 
advancing to meet one. And her face was so white and 


THEO WADDINGTOX 


241 


quiet — it would have seemed like marble but for those 
dark, bright eyes. She really looked, Sue, like a poet, or 
a genius, or something of that sort, don’t you know.” 

“ Do you know,” Sue responded, also speaking in a 
confidential whisper (they generally reverently lowered 
their voices in talking of their divinity) ; “do you know, 

I heard that she came away from her home to teach 
because she had trouble with ” — 

“Oh, do tell me quickly! A lover.? Quick, Sue!” 
she rapturously cried. “I’m perfectly dying to know.” 

“I’d have had it told, Kate, by this time if you hadn’t, 
interrupted. She had trouble with her father.” 

“Oh, that isn’t nearly so romantic!” Kate said, in a 
tone of disappointment. “But still I’m crazy to hear 
about it. Do go on, Kate. You tell things so slowly. 
What sort of trouble did she have with her father.?” 

“Miss Waddington wanted to go into a convent and 
take the veil, but her father wouldn’t let her, and so she 
left home. At least, so I heard.” 

“I don’t think that’s very logical,” Kate said, critically. 
“How would it help her case to leave home and come 
to a- strict Presbyterian school like this .? And another 
thing,” very mysteriously; “my suspicion is, that Miss 
Waddington holds loose views. And I know her father ^ 
is a minister, and perhaps that’s why she left her home.” 

A stern voice at their door interrupted them, “ Girls ! 
Five marks each for talking in study-hour. And if I 
hear it again I shall report you to the principal.” 

“The old pig!” muttered Kate. 

“Hush — sh! she’s probably listening.” 

“I hope she is, the old pig!” obstinately repeated 

Kate. 


242 


THEO WADDINTGOIsr 


Meanwhile Theo was sitting in the library by a win- 
dow, listlessly looking out into the dim grounds which 
surrounded the building. In imagination, she was seeing 
them all at home, as they were gathered together in the 
library — her father reading the evening paper or the 
Presbyterian Mo7ithly ; her mother peacefully knitting; 
Joe, with rumpled hair and contracted brows plunging 
into some huge volume on chemistry ; Amy looking 
extremely tidy, studying her Sunday School lesson from 
Augsburg Teachery or perhaps sewing; Harold, if he 
were home, reading a volume of Jonathan Edwards’ pow- 
erful discourses. So monotonous was their life at home 
and so regular and systematic the household routine, that 
she could at any hour in the day have told almost to the 
letter what each member of her family was doing. Her 
heart yearned over the picture which her fancy just now 
conjured up. Were any of them thinking of her, as she 
was thinking of them.? Did they miss her.? Her father 
wrote to hOr but seldom, and his letters were usually 
short and almost cold. He had not yet forgiven her. 
Her mother wrote nearly every day, begging her “ to give 
up the foolish ideas which displeased papa so much, 
and come home.” Amy wrote at stated intervals, telling 
all the home and church news and gravely expressing her* 
grief at her dear sister’s continued unbelief. Harold 
preached to her in his weekly lengthy epistles, and sadly 
lamented her 'Hall from grace”. Joe’s frequent letters 
were jolly and refreshing, and he never referred to the 
cloud which had darkened for her, the peaceful, happy 
home life. 

Her meditation was interrupted by a voice at her side. 
She started violently at the sound of it, for she had heard 


THEO WADDINGTON 


2413 


no footstep approaching. Mr. Udell, as before remarked, 
had an odd little habit of suddenly appearing at one’s side 
like a spectre. 

‘‘Pardon me. Did I startle you.?” he asked, in his 
cold, quiet voice. 

“Yes,” she said, resuming the comfortable position 
from which he had roused her, her elbow resting upon 
the window-sill, and her head thrown back upon her 
palm in the old, childish attitude which he so distinctly 
remembered. 

“You were sitting just so,” he said, looking at her 
closely, “one evening, many years ago, in the parsonage 
parlor in York, when I came upon you and startled you, 
as I startled you just now. You remember.?” 

“Yes,” she replied, again. “But what makes you do 
so .? Why don’t you give me a little warning of your 
coming .? It is a ver^^ uncanny habit of yours, Mr. Udell, 
this suddenly turning up, when one isn’t expecting you.” 

“ And interrupting little tete'OL’tetes in gentlemen’s 
private apartments,” he said, significantly. “It is well 
for the Principal of a school to have ‘uncanny’ habits, 
when his teachers are prone to such indiscretions.” 

Theo slowly lifted her eyes to his face. She scorned 
• to answer his imputation by explaining to him how she 
had happened to go into Rushmore’s room. But the 
clear glance which for an instant rested upon him, and 
was then turned away, without a word, made him, some- 
how, feel exceedingly small and uncomfortable. This girl 
(for to him she seemed nothing more than a girl) could 
affect him, as no other person whom he had ever known 
could do. He hastened to speak of something else. 

“ You have heard, of course. Miss Waddington, of 


244 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Rushmore’s having come into an immense fortune — 
gratitude of a dying client — several millions.” 

“I heard of it,” said Theo, recalling a remark made by 
one of the teachers to that effect.” 

“He lives at the Windsor now — twenty-five dollars a 
day, you know — and has a stable full of the finest horses 
in the city. He is going it rather rapidly. But he is 
as devoted to his profession as ever. The women are 
breaking their necks in their wild race after the prize.” 

Theo neither enjoyed nor approved of this style of 
conversation. “Don’t you think, Mr. Udell,” she said, 
“that that savors a little of gossip.^” 

One of his teachers deliberately reproving him ! This 
was certainly a very novel thing. He again found it nec- 
essary hastily to change the subject. 

“What do you think of our library t ” waving his hand 
toward the well-filled shelves. 

She hesitated an instant, and then she said — 

“I am sorry not to find Emerson here, and Carlyle 
and Dr. Holmes and Huxley and Spencer. And I regret 
to see the shelves loaded down with Calvinism,” 

Udell almost looked surprised. “I thought you would 
like our assortment. It is very like your father’s collec- 
tion, at your home.” 

“Yes,” she said, smiling, “I’ve always found it nec- 
essary to go to our neighbor. Miss Appell, whenever I’ve 
wanted anything to read.” 

Udell slowly folded his arms across his broad chest. 
“So you read Huxley and Spencer, do you.? And you a 
daughter of my friend. Dr. Waddington ! What does 
your father think of your reading such books .? ” 

“He seldom notices what I read. But I have seen 


THEO WADDINGTON 


245 


you read Huxley, Mr. Udell, and Darwin, too, and David 
Hume. You have a philosophical mind, and I know you 
are a thinker. You are naturally incredulous, too. It is 
a constant mystery to me that you can remain in the 
ministry.” 

Where do you stand, Miss Waddington ” 

“I think I must call myself an Agnostic.” 

He smiled a cold, quiet smile, and took a step nearer 
to her. “Perhaps you and I are not so very far apart, in 
our views. Of course, this is between ourselves.” 

Theo’s honest eyes were again raised to his face with 
that look which always made him so uncomfortable. 

“Why do you make a secret of it she asked. 

“My influence would be destroyed, if I gave forth my 
real convictions. I can do much good, if I keep silence, 
in ministering to those whose minds are not ready for the 
higher truth and who would only be deeply offended by 
it.” 

“ I cannot sympathize with that attitude. There is a 
rashness and a candor in me which hates policy. I can- 
not understand how your influence for good could be 
injured by your honestly stating what you feel to be the 
truth.” 

“ I should offend those to whom I am at present of 
much use,” he repeated. 

“But by keeping silent and thereby assuming a false 
position, you retard the prayers of freedom, and offend 
others to whom you might be doing good were you to 
come forth more courageously and honestly.” 

“Do I offend you by my silence.^” 

“Yes. Your principle seems to me very like the 
Jesuit motto: ‘The end sanctifies the means.’ Your 


■24H 


THEO WADDINGTON 


position is that of a vast number of modern divines, and 
I can’t help thinking that the influence of their cautious 
silence is harmful, perhaps more harmful to themselves 
than to others.” 

He looked down into her white, pure face, gleaming 
from out the dimness of the evening light, and his 
broad chest heaved deeply. The nobility of this woman 
inspired a feeling almost of worship, in a soul not alto- 
gether mean ; and a half-formed desire stirred his heart, 
that he might raise himself to the high standard which 
he felt that she innocently looked for in others. In the 
weeks that followed, he found in his frequent contact 
with Miss Waddington, that this desire grew upon him 
steadily. It became almost a mania with him. It was 
not, however, unmixed with the selfish wish to win her 
approval and favor — to which end, with a persistent, 
quiet strength, he tried to overcome obstacle after 
obstacle. 

But there was one phase of her character which he 
never learned to know. An unerring instinct led her 
never to betray to the calculating, mathematical mind of 
Udell, the warmer, and more passionate side of her 
nature. It was the same instinct which in her childhood 
had led her to keep her note-book a profound secret from 
her practical-minded family. 

Udell’s mind was of that nature which must needs 
reduce everything to definite quantities, and bring it 
within prescribed, geometrical dimensions. The fancies 
and emotions of an artistic nature always seemed to him 
to be nothing more than disgusting affectation. Theo 
felt this intuitively, and it sealed her lips upon her best 
thoughts whenever she conversed with him. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


247 


CHAPTER XIV 

I T was a chill, December afternoon, and the sky was 
gray and gloomy. It was such a day as invited to a 
comfortable arm-chair before a warm fire in a well-stocked 
library, rather than to a stroll in the streets or through 
the Park. Yet Theo’s restless spirit had found no satis- 
faction in books that day, and she had wandered forth for 
a long walk in the chilly air. Nothing so surely quieted 
that fever of uneasiness which sometimes seized her, as 
a brisk walk through the crowded streets, or a leisurely 
stroll under the great, old trees of the Park. There 
was something in the calm majesty of those venerable 
trees, which through many a decade had withstood wind 
and tempest, that calmed her ruffled spirits, strengthened 
her wavering courage, and inspired fresh hope in her 
tired heart. 

Not a few pairs of eyes turned to glance after the 
strong, youthful figure which swung along with such an 
unconscious grace, with such decision in its step and yet 
such dignity in its bearing that it might have belonged 
to a young queen. Theo’s walk, like most other things 
about her, was not conventional, but characteristic. 
Unconventionality sets well only on those whose individ- 
uality is strong enough to form a pleasing substitution 
for the usages which polite society demands. 

One cannot walk far in the streets of New York city 


248 


THKO WADDINGTON 


without seeing many painful sights. Indeed, one cannot 
live long in the great metropolis without becoming not 
only rather callous to suffering, but also indifferent to 
splendor. Theo had not yet reached this state, and in 
the course of her customary daily walks, not a single poor 
suffering wretch who passed her, ever escaped her pity- 
ing glance. There was one form of suffering, however, 
which always moved her to something more than a 
glance of pity. No little child with pinched and hungry 
face, or small cripple with wares to sell, ever missed her 
interest or aid. 

This afternoon, she had been walking along the bus- 
tling, crowded streets rather aimlessly, with no distinct 
intention of going anywhere in particular. But gradu- 
ally the wish formed itself in her mind, to get away from 

“ Midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men ”, 

and to go to the Park and there wander about under the 
restful, grand old trees. She spoke to a small boy and 
asked him if he could tell her the shortest cut to Central 
Park. The boy shook his head and ran away ; he had 
other fish to fry. But instantly, a little ragged, barefoot 
girl who had been standing near by, holding a heavy 
baby in her arms, and who had overheard Theo’s request, 
stepped closer to her side and offered her services. She 
was a very forlorn little child — pale and thin, and with 
scarcely rags enough to decently cover her miserable lit- 
tle body. 

“Lady!” she said, eagerly, raising her hollow, wistful 
eyes to Theo’s face, “let I show you the way to the Park, 
please ! I’ll do it for a penny, and it are more’n a half 
a mile away.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


240 


“But the baby, my dear little girl — it would make 
you too tired to-carry the baby so far.” 

Accustomed as this little street-beggar was to rebuffs, 
the gentleness in the voice and the kindness in the eyes 
of this lady who spoke to her as no one had ever before 
spoken to her in all her little life, filled her with a 
strange wonder. She looked up at Theo, and slowly her 
big eyes filled with tears. 

“Oh, ma’am,” she said, with a sad little smile, which 
went to Theo’s heart, “ I couldn’t get more tireder than 
I are.” 

“Poor little one!” and Theo’s hand went out instinct- 
ively to the child’s wan face in a gentle caress which 
made the big eyes open wider than ever in puzzled 
wonder. 

What a spectacle Miss Waddington was making of her- 
self! So thought Udell as he looked at her from a 
slowly passing street-car — and .so thought many another 
man and woman who carelessly observed, as they walked 
by, the striking, well-appearing young lady wrapped in 
handsome furs, stopping on the side-walk to caress the 
cheek of a forlorn little beggar-child. “An eccentric 
young woman ! ” they said to themselves, and hurried on. 

“You may show me the way to the Park,” Theo 
replied to the child ; “and I shall pay you well. But let 
me carry the baby.” 

She had satisfied herself that the infant was actually 
quite clean, before she made this astonishing proposal. 
But the little girl now looked absolutely alarmed at such 
an unheard-of proposition. “ Be you right in your head ” 
she anxiously inquired. 

“Quite right, I think,” Theo said, smiling, as she took 


250 


THEO WADDINGTON 


the passive, heavy baby in her strong arms. “You are 
tired and I am not. Why -should I not bear the burden 
for a few minutes which you, my little fellow-creature, 
have to carry all the time } ” 

Perhaps the little girl did not understand the question, 
but the smile which accompanied it reassured her as to 
the strange lady’s sanity and trustworthiness. 

So together they walked along the crowded street, 
Theo carrying the baby, and the barefoot little girl trudg- 
ing at her side, and still keeping her wondering eyes fixed 
upon the lady’s face. 

As they went on, Theo became unpleasantly conscious 
of the fact that she was the object of a great deal of star- 
ing, and it dawned upon her, after a few moments, that 
she must have done a rather unusual thing, in following 
the natural impulse of her heart, and relieving the over- 
burdened child of the heavy baby. But not for an instant 
did she regret the act, or think of giving up the infant 
again to its tired little nurse. She was absolutely indif- 
ferent to the impression which she might be making upon 
the passers-by. 

“Be you a fine lady.?” the little girl inquired in 
puzzled doubt, when they had gone on for several 
moments. 

“ Not too fine to relieve a tired little girl, for a while, 
my dear. Is this baby your brother .? ” 

“ He are my step-mam’s baby.” 

“ Is your step-mother kind to you .? ” Theo asked, as 
her eye fell upon a bruise on the child’s bare, bony arm, 
which looked like the effect of a heavy blow. 

The little girl’s wide eyes opened a little wider, as she 
replied with a sad shake of her head, “No one were 


THRO WADDINGTON 


251 


ever kind to I, but you. What makes you be kind to I } ” 
she asked, half suspiciously. 

“ Because I love little children, and it hurts me to see 
them suffer.” 

It was just at this instant that Theo suddenly stopped 
short in the middle of the pavement and almost dropped 
the heavy infant, as something tall and dark loomed up 
before her eyes, stopping directly in her way — and 
glancing up, startled, she met the astonished gaze of Mr. 
Horace Rushmore, who had been coming rapidly along 
the street and had been suddenly and sharply arrested 
by the startling sight of Miss Theo Waddington walking 
toward him with a shabbily-clad infant in her arms and 
a street-beggar at her side. 

“What on earth !” he exclaimed, lifting his hat and at 
the same time gingerly touching with his gloved hand 
the unattractive baby in Theo’s arms. “Where did you 
get it? And this,” glancing at the ragged little girl. 
“ In the name of conscience what are you doing with 
them and where did you pick them up.?” 

Rushmore’s appearance, this afternoon, was rather 
more striking than usual. The seal-skin collar of his 
long overcoat enhanced the pallor of his face, making his 
luminous eyes shine out of it with an unwonted brill- 
iancy. He wore a seal-skin cap and brown kid gloves 
and carried a gold-handled silk umbrella. He looked 
the New York millionaire from head to foot. 

“I didn’t think I was doing anything so very much 
out of place,” Theo said, a little anxiously. “The little 
girl is showing me a short cut to the Park and I’m reliev- 
ing her of this heavy baby on the way.” 

Rushmore’s eyes twinkled and he bit his lip, as Theo 


252 


THEO WADDINGTON 


remembered to have seen him do, years ago in her child- 
hood, when she had talked to him at Alice Canfield’s ten- 
nis-party about her secret thoughts”. 

“ Miss Waddington, you are positively unique ! How 
far have you been carrying this infant through these pub- 
lic streets.?” 

“About three squares.” 

“Three squares! Have you met any one whom you 
know .? ” 

“I didn’t look around much — but I think not.” 

“ If only Mrs. Graybill could have seen you — or 
Udell I ” he added, with a broad smile. 

“Why.?” Theo demanded. 

He made no reply, but deliberately tucking his um- 
brella under his elbow, he put out his hands and abruptly 
lifted the baby from her arms. 

“I shall go with you to the Park, and I shall carry the 
child!” he said, turning to face the direction in which 
she had been walking. 

“But,” said Theo, hesitatingly, “I’m afraid you don’t 
know how to handle a baby. Men are so awkward.” 

“ I’ve had experience. I have a baby of my own, you 
know. Now come, let us jog along — a happy and 
united family.” 

He started forward and she was compelled to walk 
beside him. 

“But it is six years since Lucy was this size,” she said, 
watching his management of the infant rather doubtfully, 
as they made their way through the street. 

“She was as helpless as a baby until she was four 
years old. Oh, don’t be afraid to trust me. I know just 
how to handle an infant.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


25a 


^‘Very well, then, it is a relief to my arms,” she 
replied simply, as she willingly walked at his side with 
the little beggar-girl’s hand clasped in her own. 

Rushmore burst into a laugh, as he glanced from her 
to the baby and back again at her. 

“Is the situation so very amusing.^” she asked, curi- 
ously and without smiling. 

“ I’m thinking what a ludicrous sight I’m presenting to 
the public,” he said; “this thing will be in the news- 
papers to-morrow. I wonder what construction they 
will put upon it. A scandal will grow out of it, no 
doubt. Don’t you observe how we are being stared 
at.?” 

“Why need we care.?” she asked, indifferently. 

“I really believe you never stop to think of appear- 
ances,” he said, looking at her curiously. 

“Not often,” she admitted. “I am too busy for 
that — and life is too short to trouble one’s self about 
so unimportant a thing as how one may appear to others. 
It really is not worth while — indeed, it is so very not- 
worth-while ! ” she added, with a smile. 

“You are the most independent young person it has 
ever been my good fortune to know.” 

“ Why .? Because I offered to carry this child’s burden 
for her through this street.? Think, Mr. Rushmore, what 
it must be to this little girl to have to trudge the streets 
all day long with that heavy baby in her puny arms. 
Why, my strong arms ached after walking a square and 
a half, and I can see that even your man’s strength is a 
little taxed in holding it.” 

Rushmore’s face grew grave, as he glanced from Theo 
to the forlorn little girl whose hand she held, and who 


254 


THEO WADDINGTON 


Still gazed up into her face as though she could never 
draw her eyes away from it. 

“You have put a ray of brightness into this little one’s 
dark life by your small kindness to her, to-day” he said, 
“ which she can never, never lose. She will never forget 
this afternoon.” 

“Such a life as this,” Theo said, indicating the child, 
“seems to me so pitiful, so pitiful.” 

“ Will it surprise you to learn that to many people of 
my acquaintance, your life of teaching and pleasureless 
routine, would seem quite as pitiful as this child’s life of 
beggary seems to you } Poverty and wealth are after all 
merely relative conditions.” 

“Mr. Rushmore,” she asked, “are you proud 

He looked at her inquiringly. 

“Now just what do you mean by that question 
What are you driving at ” 

“ I have heard you sneer at the shams of fashionable 
life. Perhaps you could discover the sincerity which you 
think so rare, in people of simple lives and lower social 
status. Have you ever tried it ? ” 

“ I don’t fancy the society of ill-bred people — however 
sincere they may be.” 

“Then you think the great majority of those who, by 
their limited wealth or other circumstances, are cut off 
from your 'P'our Hundred’ e/ite, are necessarily ill-bred.? 
I, for instance ? ” 

“You are an exception,” he said, briefly. “The unso- 
phisticatedness which in another I should find awkward 
and disagreeable, and which would often excite in me a 
sense of the ludicrous, in you I find quite charming — 
your chief attraction, in fact. Refinement and absolute 


THEO WADDINGTON 


255 


ignorance of the ways of fashionable life rarely go hand 
in hand. I have been brought up in a certain charmed 
circle and I know I am full of its prejudices — at least 
my heart is, however much my head may disapprove.” 

Theo was silent for a moment. Then again with sud- 
denness she put an unexpected question. “ So you think 
me awkward, disagreeable and unsophisticated } ” 

“ That is exactly what I said you were not,” he replied, 
looking at her narrowly. He thought he detected a little 
expression of satisfaction about her mouth, as she heard 
his emphatic negative, to her perverse query. 

“ I have a curiosity to know what value you place in 
my opinion of you .^” he said. 

‘^Not much,” she replied, with a blush; “because you 
are a cynic and your judgment is perverted. 

They had now reached the side street which formed 
the “short cut” to the Park. The little girl stopped, 
knowing that her guidance was no longer necessary. 

“The Park gates be right down there,” she said, point- 
ing with her finger. “ I’ll take the baby, now, please, 
sir, and thank you.” 

Rushmore put his hand into his pocket, and drew forth 
a bill and gave it to the child. “That will prevent your 
begging any more to-day. Now, where do you live.^” 

The child had probably never before held a note in her 
hands, but she knew what it was, and the wonder which 
had never left her face since Theo had first spoken kindly 
to her, now increased almost to bewilderment. 

“I don’t live nowheres,” she said; “but me and Sal 
and him,” pointing to the baby in Rushmore’s arms, 
“sleeps in Jones’ lodgin’s, whenever we’ve got the money 
to pay fur ’em.” 


25G 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“Where shall you go when you leave us ? ” 

The child looked down at the note in her hand. 

“I be goin’ straight to Carter’s pie-shop, and then to 
Jones’ lodgin’s.” 

“How far away are those places V 

“A mile and more.” 

“Come with me.” He held out his hand, and the 
child placed her tiny palm in his big gloved one, and 
looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Theo, too, 
watched him with scarcely less curiosity. 

He led the little girl to the curb-stone, glanced up 
and down the street for an instant, and then, as an 
empty hack came rumbling toward them, he dropped 
her hand and lifted his umbrella. The hackman drew 
up to the pavement, jumped down from his perch, and 
touched his hat, as he held open the door of his carriage. 

“Get in, little one,” Rushmore said, laying his hand 
on the child’s shoulder. “This shall be a red-letter day 
for you.” He helped her to a seat, and then leaned for- 
ward and laid the baby in her arms. 

“On what street is the pie-shop? ” he asked. 

“The upper end of Perkiomen street,” the child 
replied. 

“ Driver, take this little girl to the upper end of Perki- 
omen street, and be careful of her. Now, little one,” he 
added, looking into the carriage again, “good-by.” 

“Good-by, sir. You be jus’ like God, what the Sun- 
day School man told me about. And the fine lady,” she 
added, looking at Theo, who had stepped to the curb- 
stone, “the fine lady be like the music in the big Cathe- 
dral which I creeps in and hears it on Sundays.” 

Then the driver closed the door, mounted his perch 


THEO WADDI^GTON 


267 


once more, and the little girl was whirled away on her 
fine drive. 

As Rushmore and Theo turned to enter the Park gates, 
the former §aid, in a grave, low tone, “That little girl 
is just about the age of Lucy. A mere chance of birth 
places my child in a palace and that forlorn little one on 
the wretched streets of this great city.” 

Theo looked thoughtful, but made no reply, as together 
they walked slowly through a long avenue of tall 
trees. 

“By the way, what an idea that was for the child 
to conceive — comparing* you with the music of the 
Cathedral.” 

‘‘Her material from which to draw comparisons is so 
limited,” Theo said, smiling. 

“It instantly recalled to me,” he said, looking at her, 
“that Sunday afternoon, almost two years ago, on which 
I heard you sing a hymn. Do you remember.^” 

Her face grew red as she told him she could never for- 
get that afternoon. 

“ Neither can I,” he replied, in a significant tone. 

And then after an instant, he added, “ I have never 
heard you sing since that day, and I should be almost 
afraid to.” 

“You are not fond of having hymns sung to you — and 
in an evangelizing spirit ? ” 

“Your voice affected me oddly,” he said, ignoring her 
question. “I had never heard one just like it. It is a 
very unusual voice. As I listened to you that afternoon 
I felt as though something had gotten a grip on my 
heart, and were crushing the life out of it.” 

Theo’s face grew warm again, as she asked him, “Are 


258 THEO WADDINGTON 

you a lover of music — and do you know anything about 
it ? ” 

His reply rather surprised her. 

“There is a maudlin, emotional sentimentality,” he 
said, “ that passes for fine appreciation of musical art ; 
but it has in fact no proper conception of what true art 
really is. The popular sensational style of playing (so 
offensive to the cultivated taste of those who have deeply 
felt the truer, subtle power of music), appeals easily and 
strongly to this sentimental temperament, arousing a 
false emotion and sometimes an unhealthy and morbid 
excitement which to the more profound appreciation of 
music is repulsive and ever disgusting. The. New York 
popular taste in music, I heartily despise; beware. Miss 
Theo, or you will fall into it. It is contageous — and not 
only in New York city — it is an American failing. 
Now,” he said, abruptly and unexpectedly changing the 
subject, “by this time, what do you think of Udell.?” 

“It would not be good taste, to say the least of it, for 
me to be discussing with strangers the Principal of the 
school in which I teach.” 

“He and I went to school together, when we were 
small boys,” he said, coolly accepting her rebuke. “He 
always managed to keep ahead of me in everything. I 
was a perverse little wretch — couldn’t be forced to dig 
at a thing in which I was not interested. Udell was a 
plodder, and usually eclipsed me. When I was given a 
subject I liked, I would sit up all night and read my text- 
book through at one clip — and then I thought I knew 
the whole subject — more than my teacher, and more 
than the man who had written the book. Udell never 
broke the rules. I think he is a little ashamed of that 


THEO 'WADDINGTON 


259 


fact, now. I’ll tell you to what conclusion I’ve come 
about those youths who neither smoked nor blotted their 
copy-books, but dearly loved their teacher — they were 
canting little hypocrites. But then,” he added, throwing 
back his head and abruptly readjusting his umbrella 
under his arm, “the majority of people are insincere.” 

To this Theo objected. “I know there are some hypo- 
crites,” she naively conceded ; “but human nature is by 
no means altogether despicable. It is sometimes great 
and good. Can you read Emerson and Marcus Aurelius 
without thinking so.^” 

He made no reply, and they walked on for a few paces 
in silence. Then Theo said : 

“I have never inquired about Mrs. Rushmore, since I 
came here, two months ago. I have always meant to ask 
Cousin Violet about her, but have constantly forgotten it. 
I have met so few of your < charmed circle’ since I’ve 
been in New York this time. None of them have called 
on me — Cousin Violet says I can’t possibly expect it, in 
my present position. I have not been to any of my 
cousin’s parties, and so I’ve not seen your wife in all this 
time. How is she } ” 

She waited for his reply, but he offered none, and 
when she glanced up, in surprise at his silence, she was 
puzzled to see that his face had grown very pale and that 
his lips were compressed as though he were in pain. 
She saw at once that she had touched on a sore and sen- 
sitive subject, so she hastened to speak of something else. 

“And Mr. Colwell,” she added, “how is he? Is he 
married yet ? ” 

He turned and looked at her almost fiercely. 

“Silence!” he exclaimed, in a low voice, full of sup- 


260 


THEO WADDINGTON 


pressed passion, which shook her very heart. “Never 
speak that name to me!” Then instantly recovering 
himself, he hastily added, in his usual off-hand manner, 
“Oh, by the way, do you ever read my speeches as they 
are reported in the newspapers.?” 

“Not often — I don't do much newspaper reading.” 

She thought the sternness of his expression relaxed a 
little as he heard this reply, and she imagined she saw a 
look of relief come into his face. 

“There is another thing of which you never do 
much — and that is, gossip ! ” 

He fairly ground out the word between his teeth, and 
Theo saw that the gloved hand which rested on the gold 
handle of his umbrella tremblingly clutched it as though 
he would crush it. 

For several moments, then, they once more walked on 
in silence — a breathless silence in which Theo almost 
heard herself breathe while the sound of her footsteps 
seemed painfully loud. 

But she could not long endure this, and abruptly 
throwing off the intolerable gloom that had fallen upon 
them, she suddenly bent back her head and looked up at 
the great trees under which they were walking; then she 
spoke, and her grave, low voice fell like soothing music 
upon his embittered spirit. 

“To a lover of trees,” she said, “there is a beauty in 
them even when they are stripped of their leaves, and 
are standing bare and bleak to brave the winter wind. 
And I love a gray, December sky, like this.” 

“‘Each moment of the year has its own beauty,’ 
Emerson says,” he replied. 

They walked on, then, and talked, for an hour longer, 


THEO WADDINGTON 


201 


until the gray, December sky growing darker, Theo was 
warned of the approach of the hour at which she must be 
back at the school. And then they retraced their steps, 
left the Park and walked back through the streets, toward 
home. They walked slowly, and it took them a long 
while to reach their destination. But Rushmore said, 
when they did finally arrive at the seminary, that he was 
sorry the walk had not been longer. 

He stopped for an hour at the school, to see his little 
daughter, who was wild with delight at the unexpected 
visit. 

When Theo, that night, lay down upon her bed, she 
told herself that she had spent an unusually happy day. 
But she did not stop to ask herself why. 

She lay awake a long while, pondering upon Mr. 
Rushmore’s strange reception of her queries concerning 
the well-being of his wife and of Mr. Colwell. 

“Thereby hangs a tale,” she told herself. And then 
she thought she would ask her Cousin Violet about it, 
the very next time she saw her. But something at once 
came into her memory, which made her falter in this pur- 
pose. Rushmore had said to her that afternoon, “There 
is another thing of which you never do much — and that 
is, gossip!” Evidently the newspapers and “polite soci- 
ety ” had gossipped a great deal about some scandalous 
affair between Colwell and Mrs. Rushmore. How unfor- 
tunate she had been in mentioning them both in one 
breath ! She blushed with embarrassment at the recol- 
lection of it. Then she fell to wondering if Mr. and 
Mrs. Rushmore were divorced. Her heart turned cold 
at the thought of such a thing — it seemed to her so 
terrible. 


262 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“He has an affectionate nature, I know. How can he 
feel so coldly toward the wife of his bosom, the mother of 
his child, the beautiful woman to whom he once gave his 
heart’s best love. And to think of their living apart ! 
This must be the case, else I think he would not send 
Lucy to school. And Mr. Udell says he lives at the 
Windsor Hotel, so of course his house is closed.” 

It dawned upon her that perhaps there had been some 
impropriety in her walking with Mr. Rushmore so long 
in the Park that afternoon. 

“But why trouble one’s self about appearances,” she 
thought, after a moment’s consideration of the case ; “ so 
long as in reality there was nothing wrong about it.” 

It was the habit of her honest mind to look at things 
as they were, and not from any false criticism set up by 
the world. 


THEO WADDJNGTON 


263 


CHAPTER XV 



HEO stood apart in the conservatory and watched 


1 the dancers. For the first time since she had come 
to New York to teach school, Mrs. Graybill had suc- 
ceeded in persuading her to attend one of her parties. 

Mr. Udell, too, had been invited, and he had requested 
Miss Waddington very particularly, to go with him. 
Unacknowledged to himself was the ascendency which 
this man had been slowly gaining over her during the 
w-eeks in which she had been living under his roof. Few 
persons could come in daily contact with him without 
gradually submitting to the subtle influence of his stub- 
born will. He had gained this ascendency over Theo by 
a process which was very unusual with him. He had 
been compelled, in her case, to modify his customary 
habit of dealing with his teachers, and to accommodate 
himself to that self-respect of hers which would never 
tolerate from him, those little tyrannies that it had 
always been his good pleasure to impose upon those 
in his employ. 

They had become very close friends by this time — as 
close, at least, as it was possible for two such opposite 
natures to become. They saw each other constantly, and 
Theo had begun to feel very intimate with the Principal. 
She had almost entirely overcome her first instinctive 
and indefinable repugnance to him, and had learned to 


264 


THEO WADDINTGON 


enjoy his society very much. More than that, he was 
strong, and she had come to feel his strength and to 
admire it ; and she could not be indifferent to the admira- 
tion which she in turn inspired in him, and which he 
revealed in a thousand little nameless attentions. She 
felt it in every look of his quick, subtle, penetrating eye, 
in the peculiar tones of his voice, in the very touch of his 
cold, strong fingers when he would help her in and out 
of a carriage, or shake hands with her, when bidding her 
good-night. 

But to-night, for the first time, as she stood apart, 
in her cousin’s conservatory of flowers, and watched the 
dancers, she acknowledged to herself that this regard 
which Mr. Udell evidently felt for her, had a deeper root 
than she had hitherto dreamed of. As they had driven 
to Mrs. Graybill’s together that evening,' he had pushed 
his flattering attentions to a point at which she could 
no longer doubt his intentions. And now, as she idly 
leaned against the glass doors of the conservatory and 
followed with her eyes the clerical figure in the room 
beyond, as it moved about among the guests, . she won- 
dered what she should say to him in answer to the ques- 
tion which she knew would be put to her that night — 
probably during their drive home. 

“I like him very much. Why do I Well, he is 
strong.” 

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Then, too, he is a 
clergyman, and I can’t get over my imbued reverence and 
love for the Cloth, as Mr. Rushmore says. Mr. Udell 
knows just how I feel about the Church, now, but it 
doesn’t arouse any antagonism in him at all. He is what 
they call ‘ broad ’,” she added, with a faint smile at the 


THEO WADDIJVGTON’ 


265 


absurdity of the idea of a '‘broad” Presbyterian — the 
two terms seemed so utterly incompatible. 

“Yes,” she went on, meditatively, “I like Mr. Udell 
very much.” And then her face grew warm, as she 
added, “Father would be so pleased if I married him. 
He would be quite reconciled to me. I’m sure, if I should 
marry so to his taste.” 

A great wistfulness came into her eyes as she thought 
of this. She longed so much to be completely reconciled 
to her idolized parent. 

“Mr. Udell does care for me very much,” she told her- 
self; “I am sure of that. He had been so kind to me. 
He would be a good husband to me. And how happy it 
would make father. He would forgive me — he would 
forgive me, completely.” 

The temptation was strong upon her; for the dearest 
wish of her heart was to be restored to the favor of her 
father. The withdrawal of that tenderness which had 
been the spiritual food of her whole life, left a blank in 
her soul which nothing could fill. The curt, cold letters 
which he at long intervals wrote to her, wounded her so 
deeply that she felt sometimes as though she could 
never, never go home again. She knew that the rebell- 
ion of his most beloved child was a humiliation to him 
which he found it almost impossible to forgive. 

Like most young people, she had no real conception of 
.the close and intimate relation between husband and 
wife. So, in her ignorance, she seriously thought of 
marriage with the Rev. John Udell as a means to the 
great happiness of reconciliation with her father. 

So absorbed and delighted was her contemplation of 
this prospect, that she scarcely noticed a certain fact 


266 


THEO WADDINGTON 


which later in the evening was unmistakably forced upon 
her, namely that she was being severely let alone. Atten- 
tions were not lavished upon the young school-teacher as 
they had been upon the honored guest of Mrs. Graybill 
nearly two years previous. It was universally known 
that Mrs. Graybill’s fair cousin, whose debut had created 
such a sensation, winter before last, and who had come 
so very near to being the wife of the millionaire Colwell, 
was now an employed instructor in the Rev. Mr. Udell’s 
Seminary for Young Ladies; and even Mrs. Graybill’s 
influence was not sufficient to overcome the prejudices of 
her “set” against the admission into their charmed circle 
of one who manifestly had no sort of right there — for 
“New York’s Four Hundred” is, as every one knows, an 
aristocracy of nothing else than money. 

As the evening’s entertainment wore on, Theo could 
of course not fail to notice this change on the part- of 
her cousin’s guests in their treatment of her. No one 
was rude to her; no one was cold or distant; no one 
snubbed the poor school-teacher ; but they simply let her 
alone. It is true that one or two young gentlemen, 
remembering their former acquaintance with her, did ask 
her for the pleasure of a dance ; but as she was compelled 
to tell them she never danced they did not stay to talk 
with her long. A few other young men, seeing the tall, 
handsome young lady in her becoming gown of black silk 
and lace, standing alone near the conservatory, had solic- 
ited from Mr. Udell or Mrs. Graybill, an introduction to 
her ; but they, too, did not remain with her long ; for she 
made it so unpleasantly evident that their air of conde- 
scension was ludicrous in her eyes, that they found her 
society rather uninteresting. But Theo had too much 


THEO WADDINGTON- 


267 


to see and to think about, to very much mind being a 
wallflower. 

In striking contrast to the neglect with which she was 
treated, was the honorable reception accorded to the most 
celebrated guest of the evening — Mr. Horace Rushmore. 
He had always been popular ; but now, as the possessor 
of many millions, he was lionized j he was bowed down 
to; he was fawned upon; he was flattered; he was 
almost worshipped. Theo looked on and observed it all 
with interest. What did they hope to get out of him, 
she wondered 1 And how did he bear the devoted 
attentions and enthusiastic admiration of his friends and 
acquaintances 1 Was he large enough, she asked her- 
self, to remain unspoiled through all this adulation 
She watched his reception of it, and tried to judge of 
its effect upon him. He seemed to meet it, for the 
most part, she thought, with a cold, stolid indifference, 
although occasionally there was a sudden suggestion of 
supercilious scorn in the curl of his lips; or of cynical 
amusement in the sparkle of his eyes. 

The hours of the long evening moved on, but he did 
not once come near her. This did not at all surprise 
her ; what reason had she to expect that he would treat 
her with more consideration than did the rest of these 
nabobs } Had not he himself told her that he was full of 
the prejudices of his class Then, too, they had never 
liked each other — at least he had never liked her. 

A deep blush covered her face, as this thought passed 
through her mind; for it was just at this instant that she 
met his eye, as he happened to catch sight of her in her 
secluded corner near the conservatory. But he looked 
away again, at once, and during the remainder of the 


2B8 


THEO WADDINGTON 


evening, for a long while he took no further notice of 
her. Indeed, even if he had felt inclined to do so, he 
would scarcely have had any opportunity, for he was 
constantly surrounded by effusive women and ardent 
admirers of the sterner sex. 

Mrs. Horace Rushmore, Theo noticed, was not among 
the guests. Before the evening was over, she learned 
something which increased in her mind the mystery that 
now enveloped that woman’s history. She was standing 
alone near a door which opened from the dancing-room 
into a small apartment where the punch was served, 
when she happened to overhear a conversation between 
two persons who had retired to this small room, to escape 
for a few moments the heat of the dancing-hall. She 
could not see them, but she recognized both their voices. 
The one was Mr. Rushmore’s, the other was that of a 
fashionable young gentleman, Mr. William Clarkson, who 
had that evening been more attentive to her than had 
anyone else in the rooms, except, perhaps, Mr. Udell. 

“I saw you with her, Rushmore, one day last week — 
walking in the Park,” Mr. Clarkson was saying, when 
Theo’s attention was caught by the familiar voices. 
“She’s a nice girl — why don’t you marry her.?” 

“Why don’t you marry her yourself, if you think she 
is so desirable .? ” 

“I can’t afford it, Rushmore. If I were a capitalist 
like you, I should go in for her without delay. You can 
afford to marry a poor girl. But my wife will have to 
have a dowry large enough to enable me to support her 
in style. Now, you might marry this charming miss.” 

“She wouldn’t have me, Clarkson,” Rushmore inter- 
rupted, with a careless laugh. “ She’s a stiff-necked 


THEO WADDINGTON 


209 


Presbyterian of the old school — so you may know with 
what horror she regards me.” 

“Pshaw!” Clarkson said. “One would think you 
didn’t know much about women I Imagine any woman 
in this city refusing to marry you. And a penniless 
school-mistress, at that I ” 

“She’s not an ordinary woman. She loves her church 
better than she could ever love any man. I’m sure she 
wouldn’t marry a lost soul like me.” 

“Well, then, why don’t you join her d — d church.^” 

“There would be no hope for me, even if I did,” 
Rushmore said, with another mocking laugh. “She will 
marry the Rev. John Udell, I think.” 

Theo heard no more. She walked rapidly away from 
the open door, and went out into her former retreat in 
the cool and solitary conservatory. Her cheeks were 
flushed and her eyes were very bright. 

She let herself lean heavily against the glass walls, as 
she looked out into the winter night. She tried to quiet 
the strange fluttering of her heart, and to think quietly 
about what she had just heard. 

“Were they talking of me.?” 

There was a bewildered look in her wide-open eyes, as 
she asked herself the question. 

“ What can it mean .? Is Mrs. Rushmore dead .? If 
not — would he marry again.?” she wondered, with a 
little shudder. “ Would he marry another woman while 
she — the mother of his little daughter, lives.? I’m sure 
he would not ! ” she decided. “ He could not do that. 
She is dead.” 

She wondered how and when she had died, and what 
Mr. Archibald Colwell had had to do with her death. 


2T0 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“Yes, she must be dead — or he would not even speak 
about marrying again,” she once more said to herself. 

She put up her gloved hand to her face, and pushed a 
damp, thick curl from her hot temple. 

“Mr. Rushmore is sure that I shall marry Mr. Udell.” 

She looked away from the cold, winter night, and her 
eyes drooped. The mocking tone in which he had said 
those words rang in her ears unpleasantly. She repeated 
them to herself slowly: “There would be no hope for 
me,” he had said; “even if I did join her church. She 
will marry the Rev. John Udell, I think.” 

The color in her cheeks deepened, and suddenly, she 
scarcely knew why, she felt a sickening pain at her 
heart — a tumult of conflicting emotions which bewil- 
dered and distressed her. 

But no opportunity was afforded her for analyzing 
these strange feelings. A step, just behind her in the 
conservatory, made her turn with a start, to see who it 
was that was so inconsiderate as to molest her solitude. 
The place was dimly lighted, but she recognized, almost 
intuitively, the broad-shouldered, dark figure which stood 
at her side. It was Horace Rushmore himself. 

He held out his hand to her without speaking. She 
laid her palm in his and he pressed it in his strong grasp 
and then dropped it, as he leaned against the glass wall 
and looked down into her face searchingly. 

“You have been having a very dull time this evening,” 
he said, emphatically, as though making an assertion 
which he expected her to dispute. But she neither con- 
firmed nor denied it. 

“Why did you come off here, alone ” 

“Because — I wanted to.” 


THEO WADDINGTON 


271 


“I did not suppose that anyone had made you do it. 
Do you remember that night, long ago, on which I found 
you in my library, while my wi — , while a dancing-party 
was going on in my parlors down stairs } ’■ he hastily cor- 
rected himself. 

“Yes, I remember,” she replied; “it was on that night 
that I became acquainted with Lucy.” 

“How did you leave Lucy this evening.?” he asked. 

“Very well and happy.” 

“She tells me that whenever she gets afraid and lonely 
at night, you always take her into your bed with you.” 

“Yes — I must have something to cherish — I am so 
alone in this great city — cut off, as I am from my family. 
Lucy is a great comfort to me. There is a superfluity 
of enthusiasm in my nature,” she added; “and in the 
absence of an object upon which to vent itself, it smoth- 
ers and hurts me ! I am afraid mine is not a serene and 
well-balanced temperament. When Tm not feverishly 
pursuing some purpose I’m in despair, and feel out of 
harmony with the world.” 

“An artistic mind like yours,” he answered, “has 
always something rash in it — a capacity to love freely 
and generously, without reservation or qualification. I 
think it is this peculiarity of yours which makes your 
pupils so fond of you. They feel it when they are in 
your presence — and they see it in your — your wonder- 
ful eyes. Yes,” he added, in a low, passionate tone, as 
she raised those eyes to his face, with a start of surprise; 
“lift them up and let me look far into them and tell you 
what I see there. Way down deep, there is a warm 
light which speaks strange things to me. It is but a 
melancholy pleasure I take in their beauty —for like the 


272 


THEO WADDINGTON 


beauty of Nature on a bright spring day, it makes me 
long for impossible things and to feel utterly discon- 
tented with my sordid existence. But I feel like telling 
to those eyes the secrets of my heart. It will surprise 
you, no doubt, to know that many a time during the past 
two years, when you were scarcely remembering my 
existence, the strange, .wonderful Ideal which I had once 
or twice read in your clear, honest eyes, came to me at 
times when my cup was very bitter, when my days were 
dark, and life seemed worthless and vain — came to me 
and brought a ray of faith and hope into my heart and 
sent me boldly to my tasks again.” 

He drew his eyes away from hers and looked out of 
the window. She thought he must surely hear the 1‘ud 
beating of her heart in the breathless stillness which fell 
between them. With a strange yearning in her soul she 
watched the gloomy expression of his dark eyes and the 
stern set of his lips, until suddenly he once more turiied 
upon her and delivered, with his customary abruptly Js, 
another of his unexpected and astonishing remarks. “ 

“I am sorry for you — very.” 

“Why.?” 

“You are going to marry Udell.” Then in a stern, 
grave tone, he added, “You are making a very great 
mistake ! ” 

He ran his fingers through the long, lank locks which 
covered his forehead. 

“You think me impertinent. But I would save your 
youth and ignorance from a misstep which will ruin your 
life! You don’t know what marriage means. And you 
don’t know that cold-blooded snake who loves only your 
beauty. You, he does not love, for he doesn’t know 


THEO WADDINGTON 


273 

you — nor could a mind like his ever know a soul like 
yours ! ” He paused an instant, then added in a low, 
strong tone, ‘‘I would save you from the bitter experi- 
ences which I have gone through in my married life!” 

She made no response. Presently he spoke again. 

“You are offended with me, now. Probably you will 
never forgive me. But at least be just. You must 
know that my motive in speaking to you has been an 
honest wish to serve you — although I know full well 
that I am only a fool for my trouble.” 

“I am not offended with you.” 

He started and took a step nearer to her. The low, 
sad voice in which she spoke had neither coldness nor 
rest itment in it. 

“And you do not regard my interference an intolera- 
ble impertinence } ” 

“In anyone else it would be so. But — somehow, I 
nev.-r expect anything else from you.” 

e could not forbear a smile at her simple candor. 

“You don’t look for even a common sense of propri- 
ety from an abandoned wretch who ‘follows cunningly- 
devised fables and the sophistries of men ’ — do you.?” 

She stepped back from him a little and drew a deep 
breath. A ray of light from the parlor fell on her face, 
and revealed two bright spots on either cheek. 

“I have given up my faith. I am no longer a Chris- 
tian— r in the common acceptation of that term.” 

His heart leaped up in his breast as he heard her, and 
looked into her burning face. He had supposed her faith 
to be of that invincible sort which defies the fiercest 
assaults. He had believed her to be too entirely under 
the influence of her father ever to come out with such a 


274 


THEO WADDINGTON 


complete and daring freedom as that implied in her qui- 
etly spoken words, “I have given up my faith. I am 
no longer a Christian.” What a struggle it must have 
cost her! He felt an intense pity for her as he thought 
of that. Probably this was why she had left her home 
and had come to New York to teach school. 

“You surprise me very much,” he said, in a gentle 
voice. “ But — your father } ” 

Theo sighed and laid her hot forehead against the cold 
glass. 

“I have made father very unhappy. He is deeply 
offended with me.” 

' As Rushmore looked at her, an almost irresistable 
impulse seized him to put his strong arm about her and 
declare to her that he would shield her from that father's 
stern displeasure. But he did not yield to it. 

“What led you to change your views so completely.^” 
he asked. 

“You, Mr. Rushmore, started me to thinking in a way 
I had never done before.” 

“I.^ Then I have been an influence in your life — as 
you have been in mine I ” 

“Perhaps,” said she, looking at him with a smile; 
“you have influenced me in a way you never intended to 
do. The new sense of freedom one feels after first shak- 
ing off the shackles of a dogmatic creed is likely to 
plunge one rashly into extremes, and into the madman’s 
passion for proselyting. The overthrow of all that one 
relied on, is a shock calculated to leave one in a combat- 
ive, cynical state which is almost as narrow-minded as 
that of the credulous acceptance of systems of theological 
belief. Now if you will excuse my saying so, Mr. Rush- 


THEO WADDINGTON 


^75 

more/’ she said, hesitatingly, “I think I was spared 
from falling into this cynical and combative state by — 
well, by observing its evil effects in you. It seems to 
me to be so much wiser to realize one’s weakness and 
ignorance, also the impossibility of all intellects coming 
to a common understanding of anything. This realiza- 
tion makes me respectful of others’ opinions, and patient 
with those who seem to me over-credulous. Having lost 
faith in a few things, Mr. Rushmore,” she added, earn- 
estly, “you think you must needs throw up faith in all 
things.” 

“There are indeed not many things in this mysterious 
life in which I have a real and living faith,” he acknowl- 
edged. “But,” he took a step nearer to her, “there is 
one thing in which I do have an absolute trust.” He 
picked up her gloved hand and pressed it hard as he 
looked into her eyes. “An absolute trust,” he added; 
“and this trust changes for me the whole face of the 
universe.” 

It was at this interesting instant, as they stood looking 
into each other’s faces, that a voice behind them spoke to 
Theo. As they had not been warned by any approach- 
ing steps, the voice fell upon their ears with a startling 
effect. 

“Pardon the interruption. Miss Waddington.” 

Theo was not surprised upon turning around to dis- 
cover Mr. Udell standing before them. She had at this 
stage of their acquaintance, grown quite accustomed to 
his frequent sudden appearances at her side on unex- 
pected occasions. 

“Ah, Rushmore,” Udell added. “You here.^ How 
do you do } Fve not had an opportunity of speaking to 


276 


THEO WADDINGTON 


you this evening — until now — until now,” he repeated 
with an odd little emphasis on these two words, as he 
glanced beyond Rushmore and met Theo’s eyes with the 
quiet, steely stare which she had learned to know so 
well, and to almost fear in an unreasoning, instinctive 
sort of way. 

‘^Please excuse me!” was Mr. Rushmore’s decidedly 
spoken response as, with an abrupt bow to Theo, he at 
once turned away, and strode out of the conservatory; 
and then Udell and Theo were left alone together. 


THEO WADD/NGTON 


277 


CHAPTER XVI 



HEN Rushmore’s footsteps had died away and his 


y V large figure had disappeared among the crowds 
in the dancing-hall, Udell turned again and met Theo’s 
eyes. She tried to read in his face the meaning of his 
quiet, penetrating look, but his countenance was always 
inscrutable to her. Those strange, powerful little glances 
of his always seemed to say so much, and yet to conceal 
so very much more. 

“It seems to be my ill fortune,” he said, folding his 
arms across his chest and leaning against a large marble 
vase which stood five feet from the floor, “to interrupt 
you and Rushmore at very inopportune times.” 

Theo made no reply. She was watching him closely. 
Indeed, she had never before regarded him with such 
close scrutiny, such an intense interest, as that with 
which she now looked at him. 

“ I am always sorry to see you talking with that man,” 
he said; and there was something positively icy in the 
deep, quiet tone in which he spoke to her. 

“Why } ” she asked. 

“He is a bitter, disappointed man. He is rash and 
reckless. He stops at nothing. He has tried every sort 
of pleasure — every sort.” 

“You told me that once before. What do you mean.? 
You speak in riddles, Mr. Udell.” 


278 


THEO WADDmCTON 


“I mean — that he is unscrupulous.” 

“That is still very vague.” 

“ I cannot specify ! ” 

“ If you mean to insinuate that he is a man without 
honor and without heart,” she said, in a low, grave voice, 
“I do not believe it.” 

“He has a champion in you, I perceive.” 

She blushed deeply, as she turned her face away from 
him, and looked out of the window. 

“Yes,” she said, “I do admire him. And I believe in 
him.” 

Udell unfolded his arms and clasped his hands behind 
him. 

“His wife was driven to her death through jealousy.” 

“When did she die.?” Theo asked, without turning her 
eyes from the window. 

“ A month after you left us, winter before last. Did 
you read nothing of it in the newspapers ? ” 

“No. It escaped me.” 

“She eloped with Colwell. They sailed for Europe. 
She died on the voyage and was buried at sea.” 

Theo looked at him now with wide-eyed horror. 

“No wonder,” she said, in a low, trembling voice. 
“No wonder that he is bitter! Poor Mr. Rushmore!” 

“Yes,” said Udell, with a quiet smile; “all the ladies 
pity him.” 

Theo took no notice of the insinuation in the manner 
of this remark. 

“But,” he continued, speaking deliberately, “report 
says he drove his wife to it. She was jealous.” 

“Report! ” Theo repeated, with a little scornful smile. 

“Report is constantly very active with Rushmore’s 


THEO WADDINGTON- 


270 


affairs. The whole city is just now talking of that walk 
he took through the streets with you, one day last week, 
carrying a young baby in his arms.” 

Theo suddenly laughed and her eyes danced. <Tt was 
a predicament for him. But he would do it.” 

“It was an inexcusable indiscretion on his part.” 

“Why, Mr. Udell!” she said, in surprise, “I carried 
the baby myself, for quite a distance. Was that ‘an 
inexcusable indiscretion ’ } ” 

“ It was an unladylike defying of public opinion 
which,” he slowly said, looking at her steadily, “I must 
beg you not to repeat, while you are a teacher in my 
school.” 

“It is not,” she said, throwing off with an effort the 
spell which that Tittle, tyrannous manner of his always 
cast upon her; “it is not a daily habit with me, to prom- 
enade public streets carrying strange babies. I shall not 
be likely to defy public opinion in just that way very 
soon again. But as public opinion is a thing I never 
take into consideration in planning any course of action, 
I can’t vouchsafe, Mr. Udell, not to defy it in some 
equally unladylike manner, even while I am yet a teacher 
in your respectable establishment. So, to secure your 
school from disgrace, I would, advise you to dispense 
with me without delay.” 

“Why will you persist in threatening to leave me.^” 

“I’m not threatening. I’m merely advising you not to 
endanger the reputation of your school by indiscreetly 
retaining in your service so dangerous a young person as 
I. Think of my influence upon those unprotected young 
minds for whom you are responsible,” she went on, won- 
dering even while she spoke, what unwonted spirit of sar- 


280 


THEO WADDINGTON 


casm possessed her tongue, but vaguely feeling that it 
saved’ her from falling under the subtle power of his cold, 
quiet eyes. 

“ I would rather,” he said, without any change in his 
customary even tone, “have my school break up alto- 
gether, than have you go away.” 

“It is very reckless of you to say that.” 

“There is an unusual levity about you to-night. Miss 
Waddington. Will you be serious for a moment } ” He 
paused an instant, and then added, “ I have something 
to say to you.” 

She waited in silence. Her face did not flush nor her 
heart beat more quickly, but her fingers, which rested 
against the window sash, closed around it more firmly. 

“I think you know what I am about to say. As we 
drove here together, this evening, I think I gave you 
reason to expect that this night I should offer you my 
hand — and heart,” he added, as though this last were 
an after thought. “Did I not.?” 

“You did, Mr. Udell — unmistakably — and greatly to 
my surprise,” she replied, with a grave, gentle dignity. 

“To your surprise,” he repeated, with a complacent 
smile, “of course. I knew you would be surprised. 
You had not expected anything of the kind. Neither 
had I. A few months ago, if anyone had told me that I 
should shortly be making a proposal of marriage to one 
of our teachers, I should have smiled. As a general 
thing, I have never been on terms of intimacy with my 
teachers. But you,” he said, slowly stroking his chin, 
“are an exception.” 

Theo was silent. Mr. Udell regarded her calmly for a 
moment, and then proceeded : 


THEO WADDINGTOJSr 


281 


“I should like the marriage to take place soon — the 
sooner the better.” 

The language of this school-catalogue was not more 
unimpassioned than his calm, confident manner of offer- 
ing to the woman of his choice, his hand — and his heart! 

Theo was still silent, and Udell continued “ You are 
yet under your father’s authority, and his consent to our 
union will have to be obtained. Is this not so.^” 

“I should be sorry to marry against my father’s will,” 
came her answer, in a low voice. 

“Will he favor my suit, think you 

“My father would be happy to have me marry a minis- 
ter of the Church, and one whose standing and success 
is such as yours.” 

He picked up her hand and pressed it in both his own. 
“ One thing more then, Theo. If you would please me, 
never again speak with young Rushmore.” 

She released her hand and took a step away from him. 

“ I don’t know that I have any special desire to please 
you.” 

Mr. Udell was betrayed into an expression of surprise. 
It was only momentary, however. He knew he had not 
an easy subject to deal with, in the sweet, dangerous 
creature who moved his cold pulse to a warmer beat than 
had anything ever done in all his life. 

“I see I offend you by speaking of Rushmore in this 
way,” he quietly said. “We will defer that matter then, 
until another time.” 

“No. We shall never speak of it again ! Never.” 

He looked at her narrowly. “You are slightly excited 
this evening, I observe.” 

“You are not,” she said, with a little ironical smile. 


282 


THEO WADDINGTON 


“Were you ever excited in your life, Mr. Udell Were 
you ever angry } Did you ever have an emotion of any 
description } Did you ever love anyone } ” 

“I don’t exactly see the relevancy of these inquiries. 
However, I suppose it is scarcely necessary for me to say 
in answer to that last question, that I love you.” 

“ No, it is scarcely necessary to say it ; for I know 
that it is not true.” 

“What do you mean by that.^” he asked, with a little 
added iciness in his tone. “Have I not been ardent 
enough in the presentation of my suit.? You know it is 
scarcely my habit to make demonstrations of any sort. 
But I love you, Theo — as I have never loved any 
woman.” 

He paused again. But Theo did not speak. 

“Will you be my wife.? ” 

“You had not deemed it necessary to ask me that ques- 
tion before,” she said, with a faint smile. 

“As I have said,” he repeated, “it is scarcely my 
habit to make demonstrations of any sort.” 

“Under the circumstances, I should not have consid- 
ered the question a very violent demonstration, but quite 
pardonable — in fact, rather necessary.” 

Udell had always considered Theo a rather unusual 
young woman — somewhat unique and original ; but that 
she would presume — that she would dare to deliberately 
make sport of his offer of marriage (a great condescen- 
sion on his part, in view of the fact that she was a teacher 
in his employ) — that she would make sport of it, to his 
very face, was a contingency that he had not prepared 
himself to meet. What a charmingly troublesome wife 
she would be, to be sure — until she had been crushed 


THEO IVADDINGTON- 


283 


into complete submission. He anticipated that process 
with a pleasurable satisfaction. Meanwhile, he recog- 
nized the necessity of caution. 

He once more picked up her hand, and pressed it very 
hard. “Theoj I love you. What more can a man say 
than that.? Can he pay a woman a higher compliment.? 
I love you so well, that I want you for my life’s compan- 
ion. Will you trust yourself to me.?” 

He spoke with more real earnestness than she had ever 
before, heard from him. She could no longer treat his 
words lightly. She was in no doubt as to what answer 
she should make him. In the course of that evening, 
her feelings toward him had undergone a great revul- 
sion. A veil seemed to have been lifted from her eyes, 
and she now saw this, man as he really was — saw him 
stripped of the illusions which his strong personality and 
her own lively imagipation and charitable judgment had 
thrown around him. The idea of assuming for life the 
close relation of wife, to him, made her heart turn sick. 

“I can’t marry you — I can’t!” she said, in a low 
voice, while her eyes grew large and sad. It would 
please father so much — I wish I could do it. But — oh, 
I would rather die than be tied to you for life — for 
life I ” 

A vague horror possessed her at the very thought of 
it, and she shivered and turned her eyes away from him. 

“I am sorry to say this to you — I am indeed. But 
can’t you see how utterly unsuited we are to each other.? 
We should be very unhappy together.” 

He saw the distress in her eyes as she spoke, but he 
did not answer her. He was dumb from the strangely 
conflicting feelings which stirred his usually calm breast 


284 


THEO WADDINGTON' 


— astonishment, chagrin and deep disappointment. He 
had felt so sure of her. But now, as he looked into her 
honest eyes, he wondered why he had been so confident. 
What motive could a creature like this have for marrying 
him } Her only regret in refusing him seemed to be that 
thereby she missed the chance of pleasing her father. 
She was so absolutely true and single-hearted. Worldly 
ambition seemed to have no place at all, in her mind. 
Perhaps she was right in thinking they would be unhappy 
together — that is, that he would not be quite comfort- 
able with a wife whose standards of conduct were so 
ideal — so utterly impracticable. And yet — he wanted 
her very much. Her refusal mortified, chagrined and 
disappointed him, as he had never been mortified, cha- 
grined and disappointed before in all his life. 

He was wise enough to see that there was no hope of 
his leading her to change her mind. The look of horror 
and the shudder with which she had repeated those words 
“for life” he could never forget. The fact that the cov- 
eted possession was beyond his reach, however, made it 
only the more desirable in his eyes. Perhaps he was a 
wiser, though a sadder man, after the experience of that 
night. 

Yet the strangely imperturbable temper of the man 
was shown in the speech which closed the interview with 
her. 

“Will you now accept my resignation.^” Theo had anx- 
iously asked, after a long silence between them. “It 
will not be agreeable to you, will it, to have me around 
after this } ” 

He smiled a little at the oddity of her expression, 
“have me around ” ; and then he said, deliberately: 


TJIEO WADDINGTON 


285 


I wish you would stay. For if you should leave, I 
should lose my best paying pupil. Rushmore sends his 
child to my school because he wants to have her under 
your influence.” 

The blood mounted to Theo’s face, and she turned 
from him quickly. 

“ It is growing late — I think I should like to go home 
now — will you take me ” 

He bowed without speaking and offered her his arm. 
They went together to take leave of their host and 
hostess. 

“ I’m afraid you’ve had a horribly dull time, Theo 
darling,” Mrs. Graybill whispered affectionately, as she 
pressed her cousin’s hand. If you would only leave 
off that detestable old teaching, you absurd child ! Now 
come around to see me, very soon, won’t you, dear.?” 


286 


7HE0 WADDINGTON 


CHAPTER XVII 

I T was nearly two o’clock in the morning, but the light 
in Horace Rushmore’s dressing-room still burned. 
He was seated before a blazing log fire, in a huge arm- 
chair which, however, was none too large for his ample 
size. He was comfortably clad in dressing-gown and slip- 
pers and was meditatively puffing at a delicious -cigar. 

There was an open door at either end of the dressing- 
room, revealing on one side a bed-room and on the other 
a library. 

The furniture of all three apartments was luxurious in 
the extreme. A looker-on might have supposed that big, 
lazy-looking figure in the arm-chair surrounded, as it was, 
by everything conducive to ease and comfort, to be abso- 
lutely incapable of enduring the hardship of labor, either 
physical or mental. For over-luxurious surroundings are 
as detrimental to vigor of mind as to that of body. 

But those who knew him best, could testify that young 
Rushmore’s sudden access of great wealth had not one 
whit abated his enormous energy, and that although he 
loved his comforts — as what civilized man does not.^ — 
he did not allow them to make of him an idle, useless, 
selfish vagabond. 

What are his thoughts, to-night, as he sits revelling in 
the pleasures of his warm, bright, elegant room, his fine 
cigar, his comfortable India dressing-gown and soft, easy 


THEO WADDINGTON 


281 


slippers ? Is he really enjoying these external conditions, 
or is his mind soaring above such sordid things ? 

He lifts one large, white hand to his head, and pushes 
the long, disorderly locks of hair from his forehead, and 
looks down into the blazing fire with a thoughtful frown. 

“She doesn’t love Udell, that’s evident,” he was saying 
to himself. “I had thought, of course, that he had an 
immense advantage in being one of the Cloth. But to 
think of a daughter of that bigoted Head-of-his-House, 
Dr. Waddington, actually coming out in open denial of 
her father’s faith ! It’s a very unusual circumstance, I 
think. Poor child ! I know what it must have cost her 
to oppose him — for she loves him very much. But I can 
imagine just how bravely and honestly she would do it — 
while it broke her heart ! There never was a woman like 
her!” he added, with a glow in his cheeks which was not 
caused alone by the warm fire-light. 

He leaned back against the cushions of his chair, raised 
his left arm and let it rest on the crown of his head. 

“ This weary old world isn’t half-bad, after all. Every 
now and then, in the midst of the rush and hurry of my 
days, it comes across me suddenly like the recollection 
of some precious happiness in store for me, that this 
world, in which I live, contains Theo — Theo ! ” 

He looked complacently thoughtful for a few moments 
as he puffed away at his cigar. But then slowly there 
crept into his face an expression half-stern, half-sad, and 
presently he laid the cigar on a small table at his elbow 
and clasped both his hands behind his head. 

“Can I hope to win her.^ Will she love me — me? 
She is so infinitely purer and better — how can she.? 
My love for her is never for an instant separated in my 


288 


THEO WADDINGTON 


mind, from my interest in her character and my admira- 
tion of her intellect. It is a love such as few women 
ever receive. I want her to love me in the same way — 
with a passion such as I know her nature to be capable 
of. I should not ever have dreamed of trying to win her 
while I thought her still an earnest Presbyterian. But 
now — is there not some hope for me } ” 

He reached across the small table at his side and took 
from a silver case another cigar. The first rays of the 
new day’s sun came peeping in at his windows, as he 
put the weed to his lips and lighted it. He felt he could 
not sleep ; he could not lie in his bed ; he was feverishly 
restless. A great happiness hung over him, almost 
within his reach, yet so dangerously inaccessible, that at 
moments he felt like abandoning all efforts to obtain it. 

For hours he smoked and meditated, and meditated 
and smoked — and the final result of his long communion 
with himself was a determination to go to her the very 
next day and learn his fate. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


28S 


CHAPTER XVIII 

O N the whole, what do you think of me ? ” 

Rush more asked the question as he and Theo sat 
together on a sofa in the reception-room of Mr. Udell’s 
seminary. A very earnest studying of his face on Theo’s 
part, for the past two minutes, had provoked the inquiry. 

“You are a rather reckless person,” she said, regard- 
ing him critically. “You are impulsive, and although 
you have plenty of self-control, a temperament like yours 
is always capable of making mistakes and doing foolish 
things. Now our friend, Mr. Udell, almost never makes 
mistakes, and certainly never does anything foolish. 
You, on the other hand, rashly endanger your reputation 
by carrying a pauper baby through the streets to relieve 
a tired little girl.” 

“ I like to hear you analyze me,” he said, regarding her 
with a conplacency which showed plainly enough how he 
relished her study of himself. “ But as to my carrying 
that baby — I did it to relieve you. There was no char- 
ity in the act. I wanted to walk with you, and was will- 
ing to carry the infant, rather than forego the felicity of 
a stroll with you. But,” he abruptly added, “you think 
Mr. Udell and me about as opposite in character as two 
people could well be, don’t you } ” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you. I consider that a high compliment.” 


290 


THEO WADDINGTON 


<‘I can’t say that I meant it as such.” 

“Did Udell ever propose to you.?” 

“ Mr. Rushmore, you are simply impertinent.” 

“ But I made you answer a similar question once 
before, when we were not so intimate as we are now. 
You know you were determined not to answer me then, 
but I made you. I thought you had learned at that time 
that it is needless ever to try to avoid the inquisitiveness 
of a lawyer. But I see you must be taught the lesson 
over again. Now come, tell me — Udell proposed to you 
and you refused him. Is it not so .? ” 

“ Why do you want to know .? ” 

“ I have a curiosity. And why do you hesitate to tell 
me .? There is scarcely a thought in my heart that I 
would not have you know. And I am selfish, I don’t 
like to give more confidence than I receive.” 

“I can’t say I object to your knowing,” she said, again 
blushing, “that Mr. Udell did ask me to marry him.” 

“ Of course you refused .? ” 

“ Why ^of course ’ .? ” 

“Well,” he said, “I have reason to believe that the 
present conversation would not be taking place if you 
were at this moment engaged to the Cloth.” 

“But I came very nearly accepting him — I did indeed. 
I know it would please my father beyond anything I 
could do.” 

Rushmore looked at her quickly. Here was a new 
idea! He felt suddenly as -though something had tightly 
clutched him at the throat. He waited a moment before 
he ventured to speak. Then very quietly he asked her : 

“Would you marry against your father’s will?” 

She was silent. 


THEO WADDINGTON 


291 


“Would you?” he persisted, watching the conscious 
color creep into her face. 

“ It would make me very unhappy to do that. My 
father is alienated from me now,” she added, with a 
slight unsteadiness in her voice and a great sadness in 
her eyes; “and it makes me more unhappy than I can 
tell you. It seems so dreadful to me to think that I am 
deliberately acting against his wishes. It has been the 
habit of my life to bend my will to his.” 

“A habit which you would do well to outgrow,” he 
said, with decision. 

“Don’t you make Lucy obey you?” 

“I encourage her to follow her own mind as much as 
possible. I only interfere when she would do herself 
harm. I want her to grow up a strong, self-reliant 
woman.” 

“You think my training has left me without decision 
or self-reliance.” 

“Far from it. Your character was too strong to be 
crushed even by the discipline of a household like Dr. 
Waddington’s. And yet,” he added, slowly lifting his 
eyes, and letting them look straight into hers; “and yet 
you would never be willing to marry against your father’s 
will?” 

“I did not say that,” she replied, the color in her 
cheeks deepening. 

“Theo, will you marry me, even if your father does 
not give his consent ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

He put his arm around her and pressed her head down 
upon his shoulder. He held her close to himself and 
each felt the strong, heavy heart-throbs against the 


292 


THEO WADDINGTON 


breast of the other. Each knew in that instant the 
inmost thoughts in the soul of the other. Their natures 
seemed to flow together and sweep away every barrier of 
reserve. 

“ I would rather die than live apart from you ! ” she 
said, while his palm pressed her cheek and his fingers 
rested among the locks of her hair. 

Something of heaven shone in Horace Rushmore’s 
face when he heard her say those words. All in an 
instant he felt his fresh and innocent youth returning to 
him and the world seemed full of music and beauty. A 
faith, too, in the existence of goodness and truth came 
back to him with such a rush of fervent happiness, that 
whereas a few months before, he would have been glad to 
lay down the weary and heavy burden of his bitter, disap- 
pointed life, he now, in this moment, felt that man’s 
allotted time on earth was all too short to contain his 
great joy. 


FINIS. 






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